


Black, White and Grey

by Gnilnim27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnilnim27/pseuds/Gnilnim27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an older work from my LJ account, loquitor_mortis, under the title When Black and White Turns to Grey. But my sister said the title was way too long... I will be moving some more works here.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Black, White and Grey

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older work from my LJ account, loquitor_mortis, under the title When Black and White Turns to Grey. But my sister said the title was way too long... I will be moving some more works here.

“If I told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times… NO! I AM NOT HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH MRS.FOLLETT!” Dean yelled, banging the flimsy looking metal table so hard that all four of its legs rattled brutally against the white floor. He threw the police officer sitting opposite him the fiercest glare he could muster. Perhaps with incessant determination, the officer would burst into flames. But he was merely greeted with a tilt of the head and a look that was something between great concentration and avid curiosity. Blue eyes staring at him so intently it seemed they were trying to look into his soul. 

Dean stood his ground. No amount of weird looks or intense blue eyes was going to make him change his statement or confess to anything he did not do.

“That is a lot of wrath for one man, Mr. Winchester,” the officer noted, his voice low and quizzical like he was making a social observation. And he still wore the same intense stare. Dean rolled his eyes in frustration, fighting off the strong urge to reach over and strangle the man. “So, you were not having an affair?” the officer asked, stating the question more carefully and clearly than before, as if Dean had not just hollered the word loud enough for the whole fucking planet to hear. Dean took in a deep breath, closed his eyes in an attempt to regain self-control.

“Like I said, we had a purely professional relationship, professional, want me to spell it out for you?” Dean said through gritted teeth, at the same time trying to sound patient. The officer blinked like he had forgotten how and had just remembered.

“But what exactly were you doing then, meeting her in the dead of the night at her own premises?”

“She called me, said she needed to see me about something. Mrs. Follett is my client, I work for her.”

“Did she specify what this ‘something’ was?”

“No…yes, look, what I mean is, it was really nothing, she was feeling emotional and needed someone to talk to,” Dean snapped. The officer continued to stare at him.

“And did you talk to her?” he asked slowly, emphasizing just lightly on the ‘talk’

“Yes…,” Dean began and then the bomb dropped. The son of a bitch made a simple conversation sound like horny comfort sex. “What? No! I mean, yes, I spoke to her but I’m a private investigator, not her fucking therapist. I don’t know what kind of story you’re trying to spin here, pal, but it’s not what you think.”

The officer nodded and Dean felt like punching him in the face. The officer looked down at his file as if he was checking some extra details but Dean knew he was only making a show of it. Cops liked to do that. Stalling, letting the palpable tension squeeze the information out of the suspect.

“When you last saw Mrs. Follett, she was…alive?” the cop asked abruptly looking up and sending Dean one of his all piercing stares again.

“Yeah…,” This was getting uncomfortable.

“So, you are aware that you are the last known person to see her alive, Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes.” Dean shifted, very uncomfortable now. He knew where this was going. The officer seemed to be wondering about this and tilted his head in the other direction, blue eyes fixed on Dean’s face. There was a painful silence for several minutes.

“Look, Officer…,” Dean started.

“Detective,” the police officer corrected and after a pause, added, “Castiel.”

“Detective Castiel, do you or do you not have anything on me? Cause if you don’t, I’d like to go,” Dean said wearily because they had been trying to squeeze him for more than an hour and it was late and Dean’s back was aching to lie down. Castiel’s eyes flickered briefly to the large mirror on the wall behind Dean. Reluctantly, the detective slowly nodded. Eagerly, Dean stood up and headed for the door as Castiel watched him march out of sight.

*

Sam had his hands in his pockets pacing up and down the police station’s waiting room when Dean emerged.

“Thank God, Dean! What did they want from you?” Sam asked with a look of anxiety clearly plastered on his face. Somehow, only Sam could sound so worried and at same time so goddamn accusing, like this shit was partly Dean’s fault. It was so not.

“A confession,” Dean said curtly as he moved towards the exit quickly, forcing Sam to jog after him. He didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to. For all he knew the bastard might just change his mind and try to arrest him.

Dean’s hand was about to reach for the door handle, when a painfully familiar voice called out, “Mr. Winchester.” Dean winced as if he had been stung and resisted the temptation of just walking out anyway and not give a fuck. He could feel the detective’s intense stare boring into the back of his head and Castiel’s reflection was visible upon the glass door.

“What now, Detective?” Dean asked turning around.

“Mr. Winchester, you are still a suspect in this case. Therefore, it is unadvisable should you conduct investigations of your own.” Castiel looked at Dean evenly. Either he was a really good detective or Castiel had actually managed to see into Dean’s skull. An uncomfortably thick atmosphere had settled between them although Castiel was standing at least 6 feet away from Dean, with Sam caught in the middle. Sam gaped for a moment but found nothing to break the tension so he did the only thing he could do, stuff his hands into his pockets and shifted around, getting ready to grab Dean if his brother decided to murder the detective.

Dean licked his drying lips and struggled for words that weren’t along the lines of ‘Fuck you’. Finally he said, “Will do.” Castiel’s face did not look too convinced but not exactly disbelieving. It was more of something between confusion and wonderment like he could not decide what to make of Dean. 

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean growled as he pushed the door opened and marched out. He felt relieved just to be outside the building, breathing in the cold air and staring up at the dark night sky distastefully. Someone, somewhere up there, must have something against him cause he sure as hell didn’t deserve this shit.

“You okay?” Sam asked softly beside him.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”

Sam remained helpfully quiet, sensing that after such a long night he should cut Dean some slack. He kept a respectful sort of silence throughout the whole journey home as Dean cursed and blasted his horn at neighbouring vehicles that had no qualms in replying the same way. But the constant throwing of well meaningful glances was really getting to Dean.

“What?” Dean asked finally, when he screeched to a halt at a red light. Dean could tell he was bursting to say something. The dam of Sam’s mouth was caving.

“I just want to know what’s going on? What did the cops want from you? Are you in trouble? Should I be worried?” Sam replied, threading carefully around Dean like he was a nuclear bomb.

“They think I had an affair with Jezebel Follett and killed her cause she was going to end it with me.”

“But—but that’s crazy!”

“Well, apparently crazy’s the new reasonable for cops,” Dean said as his grip tightened around the wheel at the very thought of Castiel’s ever importunate inquiries and his vague wide eye expression that even Dean who had spent most of his life reading people did not know what to make of. 

“How was she killed?” Sam asked staring at the road ahead of them, baffled.

“Shot close range, twice, square in the chest.”

“Did they find the murder weapon?”

“Nope,” Dean muttered as he swung into the lane and pulled to a stop in a parking spot by their residential block, a cluster of apartment buildings that were showing their age as bits of white wash had began to peel off.

Sam got out of the car. “But what makes them think it was you?” Sam said his voice rising sharply with a note of incredulity. 

“Because I was the last person that saw her alive,” Dean replied plainly as he killed the engine, got out and no matter how angry he was could not bring himself to slam the Impala’s door. 

“You were the last person to see her alive?” Sam asked his face scrunching up in that I-don’t-believe-it manner. “How do they even know that? I mean, for all you know there are witnesses who have yet to step up.”

Dean sighed. “Let me rephrase that. I was the ‘last known person’ to see her alive,” he snapped quoting Castiel. “You wanna tell them how to do their job? Be my guest.” He turned and stomped his way to the apartment leaving his dumbstruck brother behind.

Sam was shocked but as he gathered his thoughts in the silence of the parking lot, he realised how sticky the whole situation was. And although Dean was no sucker for details, there was a lot he hadn’t told Sam. Sam made it his mission to pester Dean in the morning. Things were not looking good for Dean as a whole and knowing how fate loved to play cruel tricks on the Winchesters (not that Sam believed in fate), things were going to get real ugly, real fast.

*

Dean rubbed a hand over his face resignedly. How did he get from trailing rich cheating husbands to murdering rich cheating wives? Life officially sucks. He knew he shouldn’t have taken it out on Sam but he really needed something to punch and well, he couldn’t exactly punch his brother, could he?

Dean reached into his bedside drawer where his precious elixir of sleep was nestled comfortably among some papers and documents. He pulled out the whiskey flask and took a long drink. All the questioning at the police station had worn him out and his body was ready to crawl into bed and shut down. He should really take a shower and hit the sack but the wheels of his brains were still turning. He felt he was on to something. Shit, detective work was his job and his life. No way some harsh words and deep blue eyes were going to make him back down and not look into the case, especially when it involved him. Dean’s entire detective agency and integrity was at stake here. Not to mention himself. Jezebel Follett wasn’t just anyone. God damn it.

Dean had to admit that Castiel made an impression on him and not in a good way. He had met plenty of cops and most of them had a certain air: good cop, bad cop, tough cop, not-so-tough cop. Few grated his nerves enough to make him pissed, it was usually the other way round because Dean’s wise ass jokes drove them nuts. Castiel was… different. He couldn’t figure the guy out. Nothing made him tick and every remark Dean threw at him bounced off like a rubber ball. It bothered him a little and he had no idea why. He closed his eyes and thought hard.

So, Mrs. Follett had called him earlier that night sounding weepy and she asked him to come over, which was typical of her, although Dean wasn’t very keen on it and would have very much preferred to spend the Saturday evening drinking with Sam or picking up the pretty blonde he had been eyeing for a while or both. But Dean went anyway because he’s Dean Winchester of Winchester & Co. Detective Agency (trust Sam to come out with the most ‘creative’ names) and Winchester & Co. Detective Agency are known for being responsible and being there for their clients in their time of need (at least that was what Sam had written for the ads in the newspapers). The detective agency actually only had three employees, Dean, Sam and Bobby Singer. Besides, Mrs. Follett was one of their biggest clients who paid a lot to have her husbands daily routine looked into and as every good detective knew, the more paranoid the spouse, the more they pay for you to snoop around. 

The Folletts resided in a mansion that like so many other mansions of the rich and spoilt, it was something of a white elephant. They usually lived in their apartment which was closer to Mr. Follett’s office and nearer to Mrs. Follett’s shopping malls. The mansion only came to use only when the Folletts wanted to ‘get away from it all’. If that was the case, Dean saw no difference in it compared to Bobby’s cabin in the outskirts which served the same purpose if not better.

He was told that since Mr. Follett had not ‘been himself’ the house was how a place of shelter for Mrs. Follett where she took ‘refuge from the world’, as she would put it. Honestly, Dean didn’t care much for Jezebel Follett or her troubles. Surveillance was a boring job, particularly if you were tailing a middle-aged politician with a tendency to disappear out of the state. Nevertheless, they met at her mansion every Monday so Dean could give her his update on her husband’s activities (even when there was nothing much to update on). Most of the meetings ended with a melodramatic weeping Mrs. Follett and a happily paid Dean trying hard to feel sorry for her despite the size of his pay check.

Dean wrapped his hand around the iron knocker that was held by an iron smiling faced cherub with half his torso stuck out of the heavy mahogany door. Rich people bought the weirdest things. If he had that much money he sure as hell wouldn’t be purchasing half a baby angel and sticking in on his door.

He knocked and waited. Usually the door would be opened by yet another one of Mrs. Follet’s household maids. Same body, same attire, same Spanish accent, different face, every two weeks or so.

The door opened a gap. “Oh, Dean! Thank God you came,” greeted the madam of the house herself, much to Dean’s surprise. The lady’s hazel eyes were red and puffy, her perfect honey coloured hair was just a little less perfect. She looked very much the picture of distress.

Dean wanted to say, “Mrs. Follett, can’t stay long. You see there’s this cute blonde I’d like to check out at the bar.” But he didn’t say that because he needed that pay check. “You know, Mrs. Follett—”

“I—I just don’t know who else to call, Dean,’ she interrupted as she walked into the sitting room and picked up a crystal glass of whiskey or was it brandy? Hmmm…weepier than usual, Dean noted at the sight of the whiskey/brandy. “It’s over, Dean. I know it, I just know it,” she wept as she took Dean’s arm and seated them both on her Victorian couch. He could not have felt more out of place. Everything was pastel coloured and smooth, from the fireplace to the handkerchief that Jezebel was holding, a noticeable contrast to Dean’s leather jacket and rugged jeans.

“Uh, Mrs. Follett…” Dean cleared his throat and tried again but she took no notice, instead letting out a wrenched gasp and the tears started falling. They came pouring uncontrollably down her pale cheeks and her small frame seemed to tremble with the force of it. Crying was always awkward. Normally Dean left before she really started crying. He didn’t know any girl long enough to sit through their crying spells with them and the women he did know didn’t usually cry at a drop of a hat. Sam cried when he was little and Dean just told him to shut it or else but he never teared up now. Dean knew diddly squat about crying women. In the end he settled for patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Jezebel drew a deep breath, her cries soften and she lifted her head, letting her hazel eyes meet Dean’s green ones. Suddenly, he felt her lips press softly against his and she let out a soft sigh. She was kissing him for an entire 5 seconds while his brain processed exactly what was happening. And then the shock hit him like a ton of bricks. He stood up abruptly causing Jezebel to spill her drink on the sofa.

 

“Well…this is—em, er…,” Dean mumbled. This was hard and awkward. He rubbed his neck, discomfited and struggling for the right words to say without making his client look ridiculous. Jezebel Follett was an attractive woman, even if she was a bit older than he was and usually he wouldn’t mind having a fling or two with a hot chick but Mrs. Follett fell into a different category. First of all, she was his client which never really bothered him when it came to other woman clientele but he was still cautious. More importantly, she was married. And Dean drew the line at having sex with married women, a big fat thick line which he would never cross in a million years. Not to mention her husband was a politician and he was running for governor. 

He ended up letting out an unsteady chuckle as Mrs. Follett looked up with what seemed to be alarm and her eyes widened.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her cheeks reddening but still staring at him in disbelief. Whether it was because Dean had rejected her advances or because her act had surprised even herself, Dean was not quite sure. 

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Follett and that,” he said, gazing into her eyes and making sure he had her full attention. “That did not happen.” She gave an imperceptible nod, he straightened his jacket and made his way to the door, trying hard to keep his pace even, and not like he was fleeing from something.

As soon as he was out of the mansion, Dean drove as fast as he could to the nearest bar available although it was a little too posh for his liking but he needed a drink. Badly.

The place was called ‘Incognito’ and it was packed with women wearing mini dresses and men decked out it tight shirts or too many layers, all velvet and sequins, branded names that Dean could never remember. He sat himself down on one of the bar’s leather covered stools and asked for a shot of whiskey but instead he received a pinkish looking cocktail complete with a little umbrella.

“What the—?” Dean was just about to cursed when the bartender settled a glass of whiskey beside the pinkish concoction. “What is this?” Dean asked accusingly as he gestured to the girly looking tonic, bewildered.

The bartender shrugged and replied calmly, “Courtesy of the lady in red.” He jerked his head to the right while cleaning a wine glass until it practically sparkled. Dean looked in the direction where the bartender had tilted his head and sure enough there sat a dark brown hair lady in a low cut red dress. She smiled at him and lifted her glass slightly in a gesture of a toast. It contained a similar looking pink drink. In the dim light he could make out her oval face and full lips.

“Not from around here, huh?” she said as she slipped onto the empty stool beside him in one smooth movement. Her voice was low and just a little sultry enough to be sexy.

Dean turned to her and smiled. “Is it that obvious?” he replied as he knocked back the whiskey and turned his attention to the pink cocktail in its dainty glass.

“The Pink Lady,” she said leaning towards him just slightly so that her thigh pressed against his. “Try it, it won’t bite,” and she sipped hers as if to prove a point. Dean looked at the drink to her and back at it again. He could already imagine what Sam would say if he ever saw him with a tonic like this one, especially something called ‘Pink Lady’.

“Come on, you look like a guy who could take just about anything. Not gonna let a little pink drink stand in your way… are you?” she teased as she toyed the paper umbrella and looked at Dean with dark brown eyes underneath darker lashes. Dean frowned at the precarious little drink and took a sip. It wasn’t all that bad, a little too fruity and girly for Dean’s taste but given time he felt he could actually learn to like the damn thing. Sam would probably laugh his ass off though.

“It’s actually… okay,” Dean admitted, surprised at his own acknowledgement. The girl laughed. She had a nice cute sort of flirty laugh but it was just enough not to make her sound sluttish or like she was trying too hard. On the contrary, he doubt if she ever needed to try very hard to get a guy panting for her.

“Well, I’m Chantel. What’s your name, cowboy?” she asked, leaning in just a little closer. Dean could appreciate a girl with obvious subtlety.

“Dean Winchester,” he replied leaning in to close the distance between them. Looks like his night wasn’t completely hopeless. Chantel was just the kind of girl he liked. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it.

Pretty soon, he found himself in the backseat of his car with Chantel on top of him, her red dress stripped down to her waist as she writhe above him and made soft moans. Dean was fully clothed except his jeans was pushed down to his thighs. It was fast, fierce and wild, just the way he liked it and when it was over, Dean buckled himself up and being the gentleman, offered to zip Chantel’s dress up for her.

“Thanks, Dean,” she said and turned around to kiss him hard on the mouth before she got out of the car to leave, not even expecting to cuddle, a trait which Dean highly appreciated. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was half past twelve. He climbed into the front seat of the Impala and started the drive back to the city. It had been a roller coaster ride tonight and Dean wanted nothing better than to go home, wash away the smell of sweat and sex, crawl into bed and sleep. 

It was a tedious two-hour drive from where the Follets were living to Dean’s place. The long drive helped to put behind the earlier mishap with Mrs. Follett (mishap because it was clearly unintended). Dean pulled into his usual parking spot under a straggly tree which provided more bird droppings on his car than shade. He wouldn’t let his baby suffer like that if he could help it, but options were limited. Still, it was better than letting the Impala roast in the sun. 

“Dean Winchester?”

The voice came from somewhere behind him, low and authorative. Instinctively, Dean turned around, his hand already reaching for his gun holstered at his back because you can never be too careful when someone approaches you in a deserted parking lot in the dead of the night.

“Who’s asking?” he asked. The man came nearer. He was wearing a dark suit and a trench coat, tie askew and white shirt wrinkled, looking like he battled a storm just to get there. He moved in a languid, even pace towards Dean. 

“Castiel. I’m with the police,” he stated as he showed, not pulled out, but actually showed Dean his badge, rather awkwardly too. He watched Dean with a wide eyed intense look which made everything all the more awkward. All Castiel’s strange approach and unblinking stare did for Dean was add to his weariness.

“Let me see that,” Dean said, with one hand still resting on his gun and the other reached out to pluck the badge from Castiel’s fingers. He was pretty sure it was the real thing but he examined it longer than necessary, trying to get his thoughts together and figuring out what the cop wanted. Nothing came to mind. He thrust the badge back to Castiel with a grim nod of satisfaction. “So, what do you want?” Dean asked, as he relaxed a little. Whatever it was, he hoped to get this over as soon as possible. His head felt heavy and all he could think about was a warm shower and sleep.

Castiel seemed unperturbed by Dean’s less than satisfactory behaviour. “Where were you at 9 o’clock to 10 tonight?” he inquired, tilting his head ever so slightly and scanning Dean with his unblinking stare.

“I went to see a client. Why? What is this about?” A bad feeling had begun to brew in the pit of Dean’s stomach, twisting his insides slowly.

Castiel ignored his question. “So, you were the last to see her…,” he murmured, more to himself than an accusation to Dean. His blue eyes darted away from Dean’s thoughtfully. “Jezebel Follet was a client of yours, I presume?” he asked, looking back to Dean again with brows knitted together, resulting in something that wasn’t quite a frown. 

Dean was about to scream in frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. He was fucking tired of guessing and his brain wasn’t operating as smoothly as he liked. Neurons were firing at a remarkably slow pace and he was worried he might just do something he would regret later like punching Castiel in the face.

“Jezebel Follett was murdered earlier tonight,” Castiel paused, eyes wandering over Dean’s face to judge his reaction. If this conversation took place eight hours later when Dean has had a good sleep he would probably say ‘No freaking way!’ But all Dean could manage now was widening his eyes slightly while the word ‘murder’ slurred sluggishly through his brain. Castiel hesitated for a moment. “I need you to come down to the station Mr. Winchester. Your cooperation would be much appreciated,” he added.

The gravity of the situation finally hit home. Dean scowled. “And if I don’t?” he snapped stubbornly, his gut twisting in all directions and he felt sick, cold and hot all at once. It was a feeling he was familiar with: dread.

Castiel blinked. “I would be force to bodily arrest you,” he replied. Castiel didn’t look particularly menacing, scruffy, yes but not intimidating. He had a slender frame and wasn’t much taller than Dean but there was something about his air that said he was not to be trifled with. Dean took all of this into consideration and decided tonight wasn’t the night to play Bruce Willis.

“Well, looks like I don’t have much of a choice do I?” he said, giving in. Cops – 1, Dean – 0.

“Please follow me, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel requested as he began to walk back to his car.

“Er…, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my own car,” Dean said, petting the roof of the Impala just to emphasize his point. Castiel seem to consider this for a moment and finally, nodded after seemingly making up his mind that Dean could be trusted to drive his own car to the station. Dean sighed and got back into the Impala. He wasn’t sure about his footing yet but he wasn’t going to go without giving Sam a heads up first, he thought as he pulled out his phone.

*

And that’s that.

Hell, they even questioned Sam when he showed up. Dean actually felt pretty bad about putting his little brother all through that unnecessary crap, when Sam had dragged himself out of bed and raced down to the station for Dean. Sam did not deserve to be interrogated by Castiel’s tall dark creepy partner just because he had shown up for moral support. 

Dean cursed as he shoved the flask back into the drawer a little harder than he had intended. After all that, Dean felt like he was coming on to something—something but not quite there because Dean’s brain refused to respond no matter how much he tried, it demanded rest and rejuvenation. So what if Dean felt like he should be thinking and even though Dean wants to do something, he would have to wait till morning until his brain had a good rest.

*

“You want to what?” Sam said, bewildered at Dean’s suggestion that they should check out the Follett’s mansion. Crazy, in Sam opinion didn’t even began to cut it, seeing that it was now a crime scene and Dean was a suspect. It was a bad idea and wouldn’t to any favours for Dean’s reputation with the police.

“Well then, what do you expect me to do? Cause I’m sure as hell ain’t gonna sit around and wait,” Dean said drinking coffee as he eyed his brother. Sam mouth fell open but no words came out, his eyebrows screwed together tightly like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, which was probably exactly what Sam was thinking.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning away like Dean carried contagious evil. “No, Dean, I will not do this. It’s—it’s against the law and the last thing we need is getting you into deeper shit. Besides, with you being a suspect, maybe you should take the detective’s advice and… blah, blah, blah, blah,” Sam continued to remind Dean about their current situation and Dean nodded intelligently while drinking coffee but he really did not need to listen to Sam’s well meaning crap. He knew the risk. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sometimes Dean wished Sam would put a little more faith in him. “Hey, dude, are you listening to me?” Sam waved a hand in front of his brother. Dean swatted it away,

“Okay, you know what, Sammy, if you don’t want to check this out with me, fine. Don’t go all righteous on me like a preacher high on booze. Least you could do is help me find out Mr. Follett’s whereabouts last night,” Dean said giving Sam one of his looks that said, ‘You understand this is important to me?’ and ‘I’m counting on you’. Sam was pulling one of his bitch-faces so Dean looked up hopefully. That last bit always got to Sam, making him feel like he was betraying Dean or something if he said no.

“Alright, Dean,” Sam sighed, resign and defeated. Until this day, he has no idea why he lets Dean push him into doing all those stunts, but when his brother lets his pride down and beams up at him with a look that clearly says, ‘Pleeeaaaase’, he thinks he knows why. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dean said, grinning and patting Sam on the shoulder. “Thanks, Sam.” Sam just sighed again, tried to look annoyed and twirled with a pencil on Dean’s desk. It was a mess. The desk, that is. Like its owner, it was messily organised. Dean seemed to know where everything was so Sam had given up trying to tell him to tidy it. Dean drained the coffee and made a careful aim for the wastepaper basket. Then, he stood up. “Whoa, hold on a sec,” Sam said, spinning around on his chair as Dean made for the door. “You’re going now? Isn’t it a little too obvious? I mean, night time would be less conspicuous.”

Dean paused. “Y’think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, see, Sam, It’s kinda early and people don’t usually create trouble during the day so…,” Dean trailed off and looked at Sam expectantly.

“So… what?” Sam asked, not getting a thing Dean was trying to imply.

Dean rolled his eyes. “So, I’m trying to be unpredictable! Dude, I’m not gonna wait another fourteen hours to do something. Besides, the cops will be watching the place like hawks at night.”

Dean made sense but Sam still had this funny feeling. He doubt Dean would care though. His brother was already half way out the door, which wrote Winchester and Co. Detective Agency in fading gold letters. “Hey, Dean, try not to get caught!” Sam called after his brother, hoping Dean had heard him as the office door slammed shut.

*

 

Dean knew the Follet’s mansion like the back of his hand. After all he had been seeing Jezebel Follett every once a week (sometimes twice, depending on her level of paranoia) for almost three months now. A patrol car had been placed in front and at the back entrance of the mansion, which meant there was at least four confirmed police officers, Dean observed as he watched through his binoculars. But like he said, surveillance was a boring job and maybe one or two could have went off to take a leak. The house was route off with procedural yellow tape but other than that, there wasn’t anything different. The neighbourhood seemed pretty empty but that wasn’t unusual. He only hoped that the cleaning squad had not gotten to the scene before he did because if they did, then all this crap he was pulling off would be a terrible waste of time.

Dean parked his car a good distance away from the mansion and out of the cops field of vision. He did a quick jog down to a little lane at the back of the Follett’s neighbouring mansion which led to a small iron gate at the side of the house. Most the gate was hidden from view by the rose bushes that grew along the fence, so it was no wonder that the cops neglected it. Dean only knew about it because Mrs. Follett snuck him out of the house through the gate due to her husband’s sudden arrival. He crouched low and tried to pick the lock as fast as possible while looking around casually. His blood was pumping and despite his efforts, his hands were a little unsteady. The thought of being arrested loomed over Dean like a suppressing shadow.

After what seemed forever (but in reality couldn’t have been more than a few seconds) the rusty locked barely gave an audible click and the gate swung back slightly. The gate’s frame was just high enough for Dean to pass without having to stoop. If Sam was here, it probably hit him in the face. Getting into the garden was a prickly tussle, rose bushes weren’t daisies but Dean managed to get away with just a few painful scratches. When he eventually burst free from the damn bush, he was sure he looked like shit. 

As predicted, the side garden was clear of any police personnel. There wasn’t a single soul in sight except for a tiny robin chirping idly in a tree. All was calm and quiet but Dean didn’t have time to pay attention to the secret garden effect. He absently brushed off some twigs and made his way swiftly towards the pantry’s door, crouched down and started picking it.

“Dean Winchester,” said a voice behind him, sounding grave and a little rough like the man had just gotten out of bed but the disapproving tone proved otherwise. It was so sudden that Dean almost dropped his picking tools. He managed to slip them into the pocket of his jacket but he failed to still his rising heartbeat. Guilt crept over him, which was ridiculous. He had nothing to feel guilty about. A million excuses manifest in Dean’s brain. ‘I came to pay my last respects,’ didn’t sound even come close to acceptable to himself. Dean straightened himself and turned around slowly, hoping against all odds that it was the gardener or something like that.

The detective was four inches away from Dean’s face and he looked anything but happy. Dean suppressed a flinch. He would have tried to back away if he wasn’t already backed up against the door. Castiel’s bright blue eyes bored into Dean’s making him feel extremely nervous, like he was trying to read Dean’s mind and for a crazy second Dean almost believed he could. And against all natural concepts of human personal space, Castiel moved, if possibly, an inch closer. The doorknob dug painfully into Dean’s back.

“Er… Detective, too close,” Dean said, trying to remain cool about it, but being this close to a dude, close enough to smell Castiel’s breath and feel the heat of it on his face, having their bodies nearly pressing up against each other made Dean’s skin itch and not in a good way. He also felt something else growing, which was crazy so he decided to ignore it and stick with being uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said dryly, ignoring Dean’s request for personal space. Dean struggled to say something but his usually smooth working mouth had gone oddly dry. Castiel tilted his head with an inquiringly look of curiosity. For a brief second, Dean thought he looked mildly amused as they both waited for Dean to spill some wise-ass remark. Before Dean could even begin to formulate an answer, something tall, dark and menacing came into view.

Castiel was overall, small in stature and displayed emotions as effectively as a lamppost. Uriel was big and possessed enough cynicism for the both of them. “Hello, Dean Winchester,” he said in a long drawl as he flashed Dean a smile that was all pearly white teeth and no substance. 

“Uriel,” Castiel said, as he finally broke eye contact with Dean and took a step back to acknowledge his partner’s presence. Dean breathed a sigh of relieve that he had been holding since… whoa, wait, since when had he stopped breathing? 

Uriel kept his eyes on Dean and sneered. “Dean, well, well, well,” he said, shaking his head slightly in mock disapproval. “Trespassing on a crime scene, well that’s a… crime!” There was just a little more stress on the ‘crime’ and Uriel looked like he couldn’t wait to pounce on Dean and drag his ass back to the station.

Dean opened his mouth but Castiel spoke first. “Technically, Dean has yet to trespass the crime scene. He has yet to enter the hall in which he victim was murdered.” Castiel’s voice was monotonous and his expression neutral. Dean was unable to see Uriel’s face because Castiel had placed himself between the two of them, forming some sort of barrier. He couldn’t believe it, but it seemed the very same detective who had spend the whole night grilling him, had now come to his defence. The silence from Uriel was very audible. Dean could only imagine how unsatisfied he looked. 

Finally Uriel spoke, “Technically, you are right but not every thing is based on technicality.”

Castiel wasn’t ruffled. “No, but most circumstances, such as this one, are based on the law.” And his tone brook no arguments. Uriel gave a non-committal shrug of agreement. “Now, Dean,” Castiel said when he turned around to face him. “You should leave,” and to be sure Dean would not protest he added, “Immediately.” Dean didn’t think Castiel’s face could go any graver but apparently, it could because there the detective stood, staring at him with the epitome of grimness. Dean decide that the smartest thing to do was to be grateful, nod in agreement and get the hell out of there before Castiel changed his mind or Uriel changes Castiel’s mind for him.

After Dean had disappeared back through the bushes, Uriel growled, “We could have arrested him for breaking and entering.” Castiel had suddenly become very interested with something on the garden’s floor, near the rose bushes where Dean had pushed his way through earlier. He squinted at the object, bent down and picked it up with his hand wrapped carefully in a pocket-handkerchief. “I do not understand why you choose to pro—,”

Castiel cut Uriel short. “Does this not look familiar to you?” He held out the object for Uriel’s inspection under the morning light. Uriel stared at the small shining piece of metal. It was a cufflink with a tiny letter ‘R” stamped on it. 

“Yes, Paul Follett was wearing one just like it,” Uriel said as he took out a transparent plastic bag and let Castiel drop the cufflink into it. 

“We should drop by Rosstain Corporations,” Castiel said scanning the ground for anything else. It puzzled him how forensics could have missed it. The grass obscured the cufflink but he rather blamed it on human incompetence. He had learned that it was ineffective for more than two forensic analysts to walk the grid in a crime scene and the night of the murder; the house had been swarming with people. He watched as Uriel sealed the cufflink away and could not help but wonder about Dean and his unorthodox methods.

*

“And he let me walk,” Dean said recounting the night’s event to Sam, who stared at him eyebrows raised, from across the table.

‘Here you go, sweetheart,” the waitress said as she placed down Sam’s salad and pie. She turned to smile at Dean and placed a cheeseburger, fries, a pie and salad (which Sam had forced Dean to order) in front of him. Dean grinned at her and gave a satisfied hum of pleasure as he took a mouthful pie.

Sam tapped his plate with a spoon. “So, your saying Castiel’s on our side?” Sam asked, wincing as his brother took an obnoxiously big bite from his burger, his pie still unfinished.

“No,” Dean said through a mouthful of food. “Just that he may not be that much of a prick as I thought he was.” He gulped down some coffee and resume his attacks on the pie. Sam winced in disgust. He had enough.

“You know by the rate you’re going, you’re going to eat yourself to a cardiac arrest,” he blurted out as his brother looked at him in surprise, before rolling his eyes and swallowing his food.

“Oh, come on, Sam, not again,” Dean groaned.

“Yes, Dean. I care about you and your health, even if your to wrap up in yourself to give a damn and I’m not to keen on losing another family member. You’re the only one I’ve got and what if you died all because I didn’t have enough sense to stop you from gorging yourself with fats and carbs and crap,” Sam said all at once. Then, he looked pleadingly and pitifully wide eyed.

Dean stared. Sometimes he thought Sam could be a little too touchy-feely. He pointed a french fry at Sam accusingly. “I do not eat crap.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, you’re completely missing the point.”

“Okay…okay, what do you want me to let go off this time?” Dean said giving in to Sam and leaning away from the table. Sam grinned and pulled the plate of fries away. Dean watched it slide and groan miserably.

“Please, it’s only fries. Tiny strips of fried potatoes soaking with oil,” Sam snorted and wrinkled his nose. “You would be better off without it.” Then he added. “Maybe live longer.”

Sam had clearly lost his mind so Dean decided to continue eating rather than be part of this insane conversation. “Well,” Sam said. “I checked out Mr. Follett and he’s been at this opening gala of his new hotel. It was his secretary discovered and reported the murder.” Sam popped a mouthful of salad into his mouth once he made sure the fries were safely out of Dean’s reach.

“Secretary?” Dean asked eyebrows raised and trying to stop his eyes from travelling to the fries. “Anything on her? You know, husband cheating on wife, doesn’t want her to find out, ganks her, that kinda thing.”

“You mean if she was sleeping with him…?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing. “Uhm… don’t think so, looks pretty clear to me. You could look deeper into that if you want but I think they have nothing going on.”

“Really.” Dean huffed.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m pretty good at reading people.” Sam said defensively. Dean wasn’t so sure, generally Sam was good at what he did and Dean trusted his opinion. But sometimes he got sidetracked. He remembered once, before Sam met Jessica, he was dating this Ruby chick, who was a real slut and cheated on his brother more times than he could count. That a side, he had kinda liked Ruby, if only because she was hot.

“There’s something else. Seems that Mrs. Follett went crazy and fired all her household staff earlier that evening.”

“Huh,” said Dean. That explained the lack of people about and why Jezebel answered the door herself.

“A staff called Mr. Follett and the man tried to contact his wife. When she didn’t pick up, he send his secretary to check, who found her dead,” Sam finished, his salad quite untouched As Dean stared at him, mouth slightly opened in mid motion to taking another bite of his food, Sam shoved down the rest of his salad.

“How the hell did you find out all of that this morning?” he asked, incredulously.

Sam shrugged. “I talked to a few people. You’d be surprise how much the cleaning staff knows,” he grinned a little smugly and started on his apple pie as Dean thoughtfully went back to his burger.

*

Uriel and Castiel approached the reception counter, where a young blonde woman with lips two shades too pink, sat answering calls. She glanced up briefly at them and resumed her conversation. Uriel cleared his throat. She glanced at them and seemed to remember exactly who they were. “If you do not mind, sir, we will call you back… I understand… yes…have a nice day. Thank you.” She smiled at Castiel and said, “How may I help you?”

“We are here to see Mr. Follett,” Castiel said. He glowered down at her, his face serious. She looked visibly taken aback but then the phone rang.

“Could you…wait a moment…just one moment…,” and she reached for the phone. “Hello, Rosstain Corp, hold please….” She pressed a button. “Hello? Yes, please hold….”

“Okay, lady, let’s try this again,” Uriel said as he whipped out his badge and pushed it right up the counter, smiling. “We are here to see Mr. Follett and we would like to see him immediately.” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Right,” she said, slightly jumpy as she quickly hung up the call she was handling and began dialling another number as quickly as her deft fingers permitted. “Mr. Follett, has two men from the police department here to see him. Yes…yes. Thank you,” she breathe and shot a nervous glance at Uriel. “Mr. Follett will see you now.” She tried to keep her tone as cheerful as before but it sounded strained.

“Thank you,” Castiel said and stared at her for a moment before entering the elevator.

Uriel scoffed. “I think you got it wrong. He isn’t seeing us. We are seeing him. I suggest you be more accurate in the future.” He smirked at her and made his way into the elevator with Castiel.

‘You Know I'm Bad-I'm Bad-….You Know It, You know I’m bad… (Bad Bad-Really, Really Bad)…’

The elevator was playing Michael Jackson. Castiel shifted and Uriel folded his hand in front of him.

‘And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now …(And The Whole World Has To  
Answer Right Now)…’

“It you don’t use your badge as often as you should. It is a symbol of authority,” Uriel remarked as they rode their way up to Mr. Follett’s office. It seemed to be a long way up.

“It didn’t seem necessary,” Castiel replied in his own defence as he watched the number figures rise at the top of the elevator door.

‘Just To Tell You Once Again . . .(Just To Tell You Once Again . . .)’

“You should reconsider your terms of necessary,” Uriel said.

‘Who’s bad?’

Ding.

The elevators door slid open.

Follett’s secretary sat behind a large u-shape table with a gold top. Unlike the receptionist downstairs, she looked prim and unyielding but with a dash of efficiency in her precise movements. She was very pretty but her features were just a little too sharp to be amicable. Her dark gold hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. She was on the phone but hung up immediately when they approached. She pressed a buzzer. “They are here, sir.” She allowed a small smile of courtesy. “Mr. Follett will attend to you immediately. His office is straight ahead.”

Uriel spared her an impressed glance. “Looks like he keeps the best for himself,” he muttered as they walked down the corridor leading to Mr. Follett’s office. There was a sense of quiet isolation that made the sound of their shoes on the marble floor very distinct.

“Efficiency is an important aspect to a man as busy as Mr. Follett. An efficient mind is invaluable,” Castiel replied. It was Adrianna Langley that discovered the body of Mrs. Follett. They had questioned her twice and she had been cleared of any suspicion. The discovery of the murder had shocked her but she gave her statement very clearly. She had arrived at the house, determined to engage Jezebel Follett into attending the dinner at the hotel. She had found the body. She did not hear or see anything suspicious. She was adamant on that. She had been present at the opening of the hotel the whole night until Mr. Follett had instructed her to check on his wife. She did not owe any firearms. 

Castiel was impressed by her self-control and now she was indifferent to them as if she had never met them before. 

“She’s cleared, Castiel. A woman like her could not shoot someone and leave them to die without even attempting to hide evidence. It’s not like her,” Uriel said giving voice to Castiel’s doubts.

“You don’t know that. The murder weapon is still missing.”  
“And we will find it. Are you questioning the Lieutenant’s judgement?” Uriel asked quietly. Castiel chose not to reply, instead he pushed open the door leading to Mr. Follett’s office.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Follett greeted them both with a small smile. The office was semi circular with large glass windows overlooking the city. Files and books align the cabinets. His desk was a dark mahogany with silver fittings that stood in the centre of the room. Mr. Follett had stood up from his leather chair and beckoned them to be seated on the two chairs in front of the desk. Uriel’s eyes flickered distastefully at the mini bar in the far right corner. “How can I help?” Mr. Follett said, looking from Castiel to Uriel. Neither of them sat.

“We like to ask you some question. This will be brief, Mr. Follett,” Castiel said as the seemingly unconcerned man filled three glasses of scotch. 

“Please, detective take a sit,” Paul Follett’s tone was polite and diplomatic and it would have been rude should they cease to comply. Finally, Uriel and Castiel sat down as Mr. Follett smiled approvingly and placed the small glasses in front of them.

“Cognac?” He pushed the tiny glasses towards them. “Hennesy Timeless. Only two thousand bottles produced worldwide.” When neither of them made a move to touch their drinks, Mr. Follett shrugged. “So have you caught the perpetrator?” he asked, casually taking a sip of is drink.

“Mr. Follett, you cannot expect us to do that in a day. We do not work miracles. We are not God,” Castiel replied, stressing slightly on the word ‘not’ and ‘God’. He sounded a little irritated 

Mr. Follett shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, as you know I’m running for governor this year. Forgive me for bring anxious about the proceedings and the outcome. I would like this matter to absolve as soon as possible.” He frowned a little and added as if an afterthought. “I would also like my wife’s murderer to be brought to justice. After all, your superiors promised me that they would wrap this up in the shortest possible time.” He downed the brandy in one shot and gave them a nervous smile. Uriel glanced briefly at his partner, wondering what Castiel thought about this blatant declaration but Castiel merely tilted his head to the side and stared at Mr. Follett. He said nothing but his face could clearly read as, ‘Is that so?’

Mr. Follett swallowed and seemed to read Castiel’s mind because he answered, “Yes, detective that is the case.”

“May I see your sleeves, Mr. Follett?” Castiel asked suddenly. The sudden change in conversation disrupted Paul Follett’s carefully calculated train of thought. He looked perplexed then suspicious. 

“You have already questioned me at the police station last night. My alibi was proven by more than fifty people. I don’t see your point here, detective.”

Castiel just continued to look expectantly and place his open palm on the table. He let the silence wear itself thin until Mr. Follett finally gave up and pulled up the sleeves of his coat to show the cuffs of is shirt underneath. The Rousstain Corp. cufflinks gleamed in the light. Castiel studied them for a moment. “Are these cufflinks exclusively yours?”

“N-No, we gave out a few to our senior staff during our annual dinner this year,” Follett said, sounding cautious as he secured his cuffs. “What does this have to do with anything?” he asked. He was running for an election and the last thing he wanted was one of his employees being related to a murder.

“How many do you have?” Uriel asked and suppressed a wince as Mr. Follett slicked golden brown hair caught the sun and gleamed when he looked up from his sleeves. 

“You mean myself? A handful. Why?” he asked, getting wary of the detectives presence.

“And Mrs. Follett owned one of these cufflinks?”

‘No, it wasn’t a—it wasn’t something she particularly admired,” Follett replied, shaking his head slightly and wondering when he could get rid of the two men.

Castiel leaned forward and said very seriously. “We need the names of all the people who may have received these cuffs.”

“I’m not sure if I kept th—“

“We would appreciate it if you could hand us the list as soon as possible, preferably today,” Castiel said. It wasn’t really a request, it was an order.

Paul Follett was, for a moment, at a lost of how to reply. It had been years since anyone threw demands at him and his first reaction was to tell Castiel who the hell did he think he was? But Castiel’s stares were unnerving and his partner smirked readily every time Paul looked his way. “May I inquire why?” he asked, unwilling to go down without a fight.

“Just give us the names,” Uriel growled. He just about had it with Mr. Follett and felt a satisfied sensation when Paul Follett’s face froze, his mouth slightly open. Castiel shot him a warning glance but not without a little approval in his eyes and rose from his chair. Uriel did the same.

Mr. Follett swallowed, still looking bewildered at the treatment he received.. “I’ll fax you the names.” He watched Uriel walk out the door. 

“Please do,” Castiel replied and wrote down their number on a paper. Without saying goodbye he left and fell n step with Uriel.

“Rich people,” Uriel remarked as they made their way into the elevator and the doors slid shut, effectively hiding the shiny, smooth corridor of Follett’s office floor from view.

Castiel paused reflectively. “He is… unusually contented for a man who had just lost his wife.” The music that was playing was something unfamiliar to Castiel but it wasn’t one that he would care to remember.

Uriel scoffed. “Not everyone goes through the good times, bad times, sickness and health wedding vows. Most just stop at the good times.” The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors slid open. “He may not have really loved her o begin with.”

“Why would anyone give themselves to someone whom they are not truly devoted to? Marriage is a spiritual and physical bonding,” Castiel murmured. He had always known that people, in general could be selfish and capable of great brutality but he never understood exactly why. Uriel merely shook his head and smirked. Perhaps Uriel was the wrong person to direct this question to. Neither he nor Castiel was ever married and he was sure Uriel felt no inclination to set up a family any time soon. 

They walked out of the building and across the street to their vehicle. Uriel watched him for a while and sighed. “Not everyone is a s loyal as you,” he said, finally. Castiel could not be sure but something in Uriel’s tone was tinged with regret.

*

Castiel sat at his desk, his eyebrows brought together by the painfully slow pace, which the office fax machine was spitting out words. Their precinct wasn’t exactly short on cash and although Castiel and other officers had form time to time requested that their facilities be upgraded, only the most important equipment had been replaced. Apparently, fax machines weren’t one of them. Anyone passing by would have thought Castiel was trying to will the machine to work faster. This was not the case. He was reading the names as they came to save time. Castiel looked up from the vibrating fax machine when he felt a heavy gaze settle upon him.

 

A dark man stood staring at him impassively. He could not have been older than forty but he looked closer to fifty. His voice was low and sonorous and commanded immediate attention. “Got a moment, detective.” It wasn’t a question. Raphael crowded Castiel’s cubicle as if he was afraid Castiel would try to escape.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Castiel said, sitting upright and giving Raphael his full attention, his eyes travelled to the list of names and he rested his hand on the fax machine.

“I heard you ran into Dean Winchester,” the lieutenant said casually. He was still blocking the entrance of Castiel’s cubicle, arms crossed over his chest with a hooded gaze. Castiel briefly wondered how Raphael came to know about his encounter with Dean and felt like he was being interrogated for it.

“That is not untrue,” he responded slowly and carefully as he watched Raphael walk toward him, pulled out one of his spare chairs and sat himself down.

Raphael did not answer for a moment. Then he sighed deeply. “Castiel, you are an outstanding officer. You are also up for promotion,” he said slowly, keeping his voice low and letting each word drag itself out. “This case you’ve been handed, it’s—it’s very… sensitive. There’s lots of politics involved.” The lieutenant’s tone was less harsh. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Politics again. Castiel shifted his glance away elsewhere. He could never grasp the ropes of the politics business despite Uriel’s efforts to get him interested. “No everything’s black and white,” Uriel had said but Castiel preferred to stick to things he could easily tell were black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. He was not blind to the corruption and power play, the need for dominance and control but he chose to stay out of the midst of it all. Maybe that was why Castiel gave up dating. It was too much like politics.

“Castiel,” Raphael said and waited until he had his detective’s full attention once more. “I suggest you keep Dean Winchester under surveillance. Tail him if you have to. Make sure he does not pull another stun like this one and arrest him if he does.” Raphael stared hard, making sure he got through to Castiel one hundred percent. 

“Yes, sir,” Castiel replied as Raphael stood to leave. A part of him could not help but feel like he was being punished for his lack of action but Raphael could have done much worst. Follies were not without repercussion. 

“And Castiel?” Castiel looked up and the lieutenant. “I want that report— a full report of Dean Winchester trespassing a crime scene as well as committing break and entry on a private property.” Raphael gave him a steely glare and marched out.

“Of course, sir,” Castiel sighed as he watched Raphael disappear down the hall to his own office. His cubicle actually seemed comparatively brighter without Raphael presence. During the whole of Raphael’s ‘Look out For Yourself’ speech, the fax machine had finished spluttering out the names of all the people working for Mr. Follett who owned a pair of Rosstain cufflinks. He picked it up, read and memorised it briefly before bringing to Uriel’s desk, which was not too far from his. 

“Uriel, the names,” Castiel said as he placed them on his partner’s desk and .like his it was clean and organised. They liked clean and organised. It was one reason why they worked well together.

Uriel threw down a file he had been reading and looked up, relieved. “Well, lets check them out,” he said, studying the list Castiel handed him, eyes running over the names twice.

“I can’t. The lieutenant has me doing… something else,” he told Uriel. He did not feel particularly like trusting Uriel at this moment. For one, he had a growing suspicion that his own partner had been the one who let out that they saw Dean earlier in the day. After all, it had only been three of them in that side garden. 

“Then, I’ll have to look into this on my own. I’ll let you know if I find something,: Uriel said, scooping up his coat and the file. Castiel nodded before walking back to his cubicle and started on the report that Raphael had so badly wanted.

Thankfully, Castiel was good at reports. He tried to not incriminate Dean the best that he could, choosing instead to write it off more like an accident, coupled with wrong place, wrong time. Gate of the garden not secured permitting easy access… or something along those lines, which wasn’t exactly a lie. No one had been watching the small garden gate so Castiel supposed the statement was justified. Castiel had the ability to sound strangely cryptic when he wanted. He was not sure if it would pass Raphael’s scrutiny or why he was helping Dean to begin with or when he started calling Dean, ‘Dean’ instead of Mr. Winchester. But he had a feeling. And so far in his career, his instincts and immediate feelings had helped him solve many cases and made many arrest. It made perfect sense to trust it now.

Castiel re-read his report one last time and silently prayed that Raphael bought  
it, for his sake and Dean’s. 

*

 

There didn’t seem to be anyone around but the neighbourhood, although not a high flying Stepford wife’s paradise was pleasant enough. The walls of the small grey house was old and peeling surrounded by a picket fence that could have been white once but now was speckled with grey and needed some heavy-duty mending. There were three bicycles in the porch and some toys left to sun bathe in the lawn.

Dean scanned the area, alert, cautious, just in case there were cops around. He didn’t see any so, he made his way to towards the house. He stopped dead in his tracks right outside the gate and did a quick look around. It was certainly an odd feeling, a feeling he was having since he left the Impala double parked down the street. There wasn’t anyone within vicinity. Still… Dean could be careful. Instead of walking to the yard and up the stairs to rap on the door like he planned, Dean turned away and walk downed the street and took a right turn at the nearest corner.

*

Castiel leaned against the wall of a narrow back alley between two houses, hidden in the shadows of the setting sun. He didn’t actually need to start following Dean that very day but he took to his duty instantaneously without much procrastinating. And he was curious.

He watched from a safe distance as Dean walked across the street looking warily around him but did not manage to see Castiel. Dean paused at the gate of the grey house and looked around again, green eyes reflecting the dying sun with flecks of gold. Dean could not have known that Castiel was here but he probably could feel himself being watched. Perhaps Castiel had not been subtle enough. Suddenly, Dean turned away and walked so quickly down the street that Castiel lost sight of him. He must have turned into another lane.

Castiel sighed and straightened up as he looked at the house. No doubt Dean was here to interview the Follett’s head staff or, ex-head staff in this case. He felt mildly disappointed that Dean had once again refused to heed any of his warnings. It also meant Castiel would have to arrest Dean for obstructing a police investigation. He decided to go after Dean anyway.

Castiel hadn’t taken two steps when he was suddenly rammed against the hard brick wall, having the wind momentarily knocked out of him. “I knew it was one of you sons of bitches,” Dean growled in his ear.

Castiel recovered quickly enough. He twisted out of Dean’s grip, grabbing his arm, he turned the tables by slamming Dean onto the wall instead with a well practiced air.

“You could be charged with assaulting an officer,” Castiel said, annoyance ringing through his words as he held Dean down firmly.

Dean gave up struggling. “Well are you gonna arrest me? ‘Cause if you’re not, let the hell go!” Dean said with some difficulty. Having your face grind into concrete is not the most comfortable thing in the world and certainly made talking very difficult. The warm pressure of Castiel hand pressed against his back and squeezing has wrist was making his skin tingle. Castiel seem to consider this for a moment, then the detective started padding him down. Castiel’s slender fingers were running down Dean’s hip feeling for a gun and it was sending shock loads of weird sensations through him. This was crazy.

Castiel’s hands stopped when he reached Dean’s gun and retrieved it from its holster.  
“Is this the only weapon you have on you?” he asked, voice cautious and low, breath tickling the nape of Dean’s neck. Castiel’s hands were beginning to feel sweaty on Dean’s wrist but all he did was tightened his grip. 

Dean squirmed then stopped. It just crossed his mind that squirming was a chick thing. “Uh…yes,” he said, eager to be free of the rough feel of wall on his face. Castiel let him go, leaving Dean’s wrist with clear ed marks where his fingers had been. Dean rubbed his wrist and scowled. “Seriously, dude, you believed me?” He was pretty sure his wrist was going to show some bruises and Sam would never let it rest. He didn’t like Castiel at this moment. Not at all.

Castiel eyes narrowed. “You had no reason to lie.”

“Well, yeah but you know…,” Dean shrugged.

Castiel’s face darkened. “I could cuff you and search you more thoroughly,” Castiel informed in a very serious tone. If this was Dean’s apartment and he was about to have kinky sex with a beautiful blonde that would have been some really provocative dirty talk. But coming from Castiel, it was all kinds of wrong and no, he had not just related sex with Detective Castiel. Dean blinked. Castiel was emptying the gun of its bullets.

“Whoa…wait, what the hell are you doing?” 

Castiel did not reply but slipped the bullets into one of his trench coat pockets and the gun the back of his belt.

“That’s the only weapon I have,” Dean said, almost whining—almost but not quite because he wasn’t Sam. Castiel gazed at him for a long moment and hesitated.

“I’m sure, Dean that this cannot possibly the only weapon you have,” he replied and seemed satisfied with his own observation. This was true. Dean had several other guns, shot guns, knifes the usual but the then gun was the only thing he was carrying currently. Dean threw his hands up in defeat and stormed out of the alley.

“You should not be doing this, Dean,” Castiel said, following him.

“Then, arrest me,” Dean retorted. It was a stupid statement but he didn’t feel like being patient. And he also had a feeling that Castiel wasn’t going to arrest him one way or the other for some odd reason. He decided to push it. Dean turned around and smirked. Castiel was rolling his eyes in frustration at Dean’s stubbornness.

“You know I won’t, Dean.”

“Yeah…why is that exactly?” He raised his eyebrows. Castiel looked slightly flustered but he gazed at Dean with those intense blue eyes like Dean was the answer to every question. The sun behind Dean played on Castiel’s face making his eyes seem musc bluer that they were. 

“I don’t know,” he said softly. Castiel looked weary and tired suddenly. His trench coat was crumpled and his tie was loose from their scuffle in the alley. His dark hair was mussed in every possible direction and Dean had a fleeting yearning to run his fingers through Castiel’s soft hair if only to straighten it….  
Dean turned away. “Fine, do whatever you want!” he said a lot louder than necessary, He knew the harsh reaction was uncalled for and that it came out nastier than he intended and he didn’t know why. It must be because Castiel was a cop, Dean reasoned, as he made his way up to the house.

“She won’t talk to you, Dean,” Castiel said from behind him.

Really,” Dean snapped, spinning around. “And why the hell is that?” His voice was full of sarcasm as he placed one hand, nevertheless, on the white gate.

Castiel frowned. “We ordered her—all house staff not to speak with you,” Castiel said with slight regret in his voice. Dean wondered where did it come from.

“You guys are real sons of bitches.” Dean continued to walk towards the house, through its gate and up the wooden steps that had been mended many times by the looks of it.

Castiel appeared beside him. “Now that you know this, you still insist on pressing the matter?” He watched Dean knock on the pale coloured door.

I wouldn’t be so sure she’s not gonna talk. I can be very persuasive,” Dean grinned. When the door opened slightly, Dean whispered something to the person behind it and slipped her pieces of folded dollar notes Castiel didn’t know how much. There were soft muttering from the woman and the door closed sharply. Castiel could here the sounds of locks being unbolted and the door opened again, wide enough for Dean alone to enter. Dean turned around and smiled at Castiel, a smile that said ‘See?’ before entering the house.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Winchester?” the lady asked. She was a small framed woman, a little thin and pale, in her forties. But her eyes were sharp if not wary, and her arms were those of a woman who knew hard work. She noticed Castiel and her expression changed to one of confusion, then worry. Dean usually saw her with her brown hair tied in a tight bun, in her black and white maid uniform. Today, however, she wore her hair loose with a large sweater and baggy grey pants

“I need to ask you some questions about Mrs. Follett,” Dean said as she led him into her pale green coloured living room. It was mostly in shades of brown, green and white, plain but homey. The walls and cupboards held either children drawings, toys, storybooks, or pictures, neatly kept. The least you could expect from a head housekeeper.

“Anything you need,” she said, sitting down. There was a brief pause as her eyes travelled to a spot behind Dean as he sat down on the couch opposite her. “Er…is the detective with you? I’ve already told him everything I know…,” she trailed off and glanced at Castiel to Dean, looking more confused. She had been warned by the police not to entertain a Dean Winchester if he approached but here the detective was with the said Dean Winchester. Dean turned around and saw that Castiel, true to his word had followed him right into the house and was scrutinising a family picture on the shelf.

Dean turned back to her with a reassuring smile. “Don’t mind him. We’re not together.” For some reason, that sounded wrong. The lady opened her mouth about to say something but then lost her word and just looked puzzled. “I’d like to hear the story from you,” Dean said quickly, nodding for her to stow whatever she planned to say and just tell him what he needed.

She pursed her lips. “Is that okay with him there?” she whispered, leaning in closer as Castiel wondered to the next family picture with the curiosity of an alien studying new organic life forms.

“Take no notice of him,” Dean said, giving her his best patient, friendly smile.

She hesitated and averted back to Dean. “Alright, like I told the police, Mrs. Follett just…lost it.” She eyed Castiel warily, knowing he was within earshot. By the looks of it, Dean wasn’t going to get his money’s worth.

“Er…Emily right?” he asked, hoping that he got her name right and breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded. “Look, it’s—he’s nothing to worry about. He’s just tagging along for the ride.” He patted her reassuringly on one knee, noticing that Castiel was watching him from the corner of his eye.

“The day she…she died, we did out work as usual and in the evening Mrs. Follett comes around shouting. It wasn’t one of those normal tantrums, it was a full mental breakdown. Normally, if she’s upset, she fires one or two maids but that evening she told us all to get out. She fired all of us,” Emily said as if she still could not believe that she had been fired and her employer was dead. 

“Was there a reason for her break down?” Dean asked, gaze briefly swiping to the left and saw hat Castiel was now browsing the book collection with feign (in Dean’s opinion) enthusiasm. They were mostly children books and Dean doubt Castiel would be particularly interested in that, seemed more like a Great Gatsby kind of guy, or a Holy Bible.

“I don’t know Mr. Winchester. She suddenly stormed in and fired me. We take care of the house when she is at her apartment in town. She’s hardly around. Mostly, she comes during the weekends or when she’s meeting you,” Emily explained as Dean shifted uneasily at the ‘meeting you’ bit which made it sound like he was some secret lover (which he wasn’t) and did a poor job at sprucing up his image of innocence to Castiel. Castiel, however, gave no visible reaction. He was handling a small clay jug with deliberate care.

“Em…okay, anyone else saw her often?” Dean asked. Emily looked at him. “Besides me.”

Emily shook her head slowly. “Mrs. Follett’s mood swings made her very difficult to get along with. She wasn’t very sociable either, didn’t like the gossip and all. Since she got…this way, she’s had very few friends, even fewer social calls. The only person that comes down to the mansion to visit her when she’s down would be Jennifer….I think, that’s her name.”

“Jennifer Udell?” Castiel asked, turning away from a miniature Darth Vader figurine. He looked at her sharply and made his way from the wall towards Emily.

“I’m not sure…,” the lady said, clearly uneasy by the detective’s sudden interest in their conversation. Castiel loomed over her sitting figure.

“How does she look like?” He asked quietly. It would have been great if Emily was a suspected murderer but she wasn’t. All she did was gape at him, her eyes widening in alarm Dean stood up. Castiel was very close to scaring shit out of Emily and she might just refuse to say anymore.

“Cas,” Dean said as he reached up and grabbed Castiel by the arm. He pulled him a step back “Please,” Dean said giving Castiel a pointed look and jerking his head at Emily, who could only gape up at Castiel.

Castiel gave Dean a curious glance. “Cas?” he said softly. Great. Dean didn’t have time for this. He wasn’t thinking when he called Castiel, ‘Cas’, just something that came at the spur of the moment and now the freak-o weird-o detective was actually pondering over it. Dean chose to ignore him.

“So, how does this Jennifer look like?” he asked, making sure Cas, no, Castiel had retreated a good two feet back.

“Um…ah, well, she had…she has ginger hair, long ginger hair the last time I saw her, not young, ‘bout her late thirties maybe, but very pretty. She’s tall nearly six feet, sharp clean look,” Emily said trying to recover from Castiel overexposure and trying hard to recall Jennifer’s features.

“Ginger hair.” Dean could hear Castiel mutter softly where he stood beside him. He seemed to be in deep concentration; Dean could almost hear the wheels in his head turning.

“What about people who might wanna hurt her? You know, old grudges, envy, that sort of stuff.” Dean asked, returning to the task at hand, leaving Castiel to whatever his socially deprived brain had cooked up.

Emily shook her head. “No one I can think of…well, there’s that boy, Johnny. The one you caught stealing from her,” she said a little excited at her own revelation. “She fired him you know.” She sounded like she had struck oil in her own backyard.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean shrugged.

“Who is this Johnny?” Castiel asked, voice low like he was daring Dean not to tell him. But then he tilted his head inquisitively in that strange way of his which cancelled out the rough edge of his voice. Castiel was a puzzle and Dean didn’t even have the corners to try to figure him out.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at Cas, Castiel. Emily said, “Mrs. Follett found some of her jewellery missing and had Mr. Winchester look into it last week, caught Johnny with a diamond necklace in his pocket.” Her tone was careful and measured now that she was talking to a trench coat wearing detective whose ideas of personal space were lost within the deep recesses of his own mind.

Castiel turned to Dean and took several steps closer. “Why did you not tell me this?” Dean took a step back, effectively avoiding overcrowding and what he had now officially dubbed ‘the Castiel overexposure’. 

He feigned an innocent grin. “You didn’t ask.” He smiled at Emily and noticed that Cas was very close to a scowl. “Hey, yeah, thanks for your time,” he said and slipped her another couple of notes he had promised earlier. She thanked him and walked Dean and Castiel out of her house with an undisguised air of relieve. 

“Dean, why did you keep vital information from me?” Castiel demanded once they were making their way down the street. His voice was levelled but its tone was dangerously hard.

Dean spun around. “You wanna know why?” he asked. “Cause he’s just a kid. God knows, Jezebel wanted to press charges but I talked her out of it. To her it’s just a few pieces of jewellery that can be bought again but that kid’s entire future is going to be blackened by those charges and jail time? That’s just not right.” Dean looked off. The sky was a lazy blue and pink of rolling clouds. “I’ve had a hard time myself and I’ve been through some shit so I know what its like. Johnny’s seventeen. He’s too young for this shit.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “Dean, I understand that but thing like these are important to an investigation. He may have seen something or knows something and since we did not manage to interview him since he was fired it is important that we do so now,” Castiel explained in a reasonable voice that somehow took the edge of Dean.

“I know…I just…,” Dean looked at Castiel. “I’m coming along.”

“That would be unadvisable,” Castiel said slowly, reminding himself that Dean was still a suspect in this case.

“Hey, if I don’t follow, you won’t find him.” Dean said. “At least you won’t find him today and I’m sure as hell not gonna tell you unless,” he paused. “Unless I come along. Even if you did find him eventually, he probably wouldn’t talk to you. He might even make a run for it.” Castiel frowned. Dean had a point.. Most young offenders tend to bolt when approached by the police, like some kind off built in defence system. “Well,” Dean was trying to catch his eye. “So, we’re good on this?” Castiel nodded in resign agreement. He did not expect Dean to beam at him, green eyes shining in amusement and satisfaction. It made him feel strangely… contented. 

Dean was about to turn and make his way to the Impala. “One more thing…my gun? Please?” he added, looking hopeful. Castiel vacillated for a moment, hand automatically slipping into his pocket where the bullets were. Dean ran a hand through his hair looking a tad uncomfortable. “That gun’s important to me….It was my dad’s. You can keep the ammo I just would like to have it back. The gun…I mean.” This was obviously very hard for Dean. He clearly wasn’t used to asking for favours.

Castiel pulled out the gun and handed it to him. Now that he had a proper look at it, it was a fine gun. A Colt 1911 with ivory grips. It was quite like the Impala, had an old used feeling about it but still very well maintained.

“Thanks, Cas. I owe you,” Dean, grinning. Castiel once more felt warmth spreading through his chest, he did not know why he was feeling the way he was feeling, but it was not a bad thing supposed. Dean walked to the Impala and he made his way to his Pontiac 70. Getting in, he saw two little girls run out from one the houses into Emily’s house. They were laughing with childish joy. One of them gave him a huge smile and disappeared inside. He stood for a while watching before revving the engine and following Dean.

*

 

Dean considered himself lucky (apart from being a suspect in a murder and having Detective Douchebag follow him around) when he managed to find a parking spot near the bar just as he was rounding the block for the second time. Castiel wasn’t so lucky. He had to park his Pontiac much farther down the road then intended. He was pleasantly surprised to find Dean leaning against the Impala, twirling car keys in one hand, waiting for him.

“This is where he works now?” Castiel asked as he studied the bar before him like he had never seen one before. Harvelle’s Bar was written in blockish capital letters which stared back at him.

Dean clasped him on the shoulder. “Yup,” and steered Castiel through the doors. The first thing Castiel noticed was a rather unsightly laced table lamp at one end of the bar counter. The second was a browned hair woman who was wiping a shot glass. She was medium height, stern and looked like she could take out six men if she needed to. 

“Hey, Dean,” she greeted with a warmness that could only be reserved for family. She moved away from the counter and pulled Dean into a hug. “Good to see you’re looking fine.”

Dean grinned. “Hey, Ellen. How’s Jo?” Castiel watched them quietly, feeling a little out of place and not a little unobtrusive.

“Back at college,” Ellen replied, patting Dean on the arm before noticing Castiel a few feet away from him. “Who’s your friend over there?” She jerked her head towards Castiel making Dean jump with the realisation that he had almost forgotten about Castiel. Ellen nudge him. “Aren’t you going to introduce him to me? Or you’re just gonna stand there like you got held up?”

Dean shifted around. “Right…this is Cas.” Castiel was busy looking about. There were a few customers around, still early to have a drink anyway. Wood panelling covered the walls and beams held up the ceiling. Dean cleared his throat and Castiel turned to him, wondering if his throat felt sore. Then he noticed Elle, was staring at him with a half smile.

“Castiel,” the detective said, offering a hand. “And we are not friends,” he added after a brief afterthought. Ellen shook Castiel’s hand and raised her eyebrows at Dean.

Dean stared at Castiel and turned to Ellen. “We’re more of business associates,” he said watching Ellen’s face slip from jovial to incredulity. “Ooookay…,” Dean muttered rubbing his hands together nervously as Ellen gave him a look that said, ‘I hope you are not in trouble and what the hell is going on?’

“Is Johnny here?” Castiel asked in such a dead panned tone that you would think it was a matter of life and death.

“He’s over there,” she said pointing to the a skinny auburn hair youth who was mopping a huge mess of the floor, made by a customer not too long ago. Castiel walked towards Johnny and Dean made to follow. “Wait a moment,” Ellen’s grip was like a vice on Dean’s arm. “What is going on?” 

Dean eased himself out of her grasp. “I’ll explain later,” he said. Dean was really more concerned about what his eccentric acquaintance might to do Johnny. He left Ellen with steam coming out from her ears and hurried over. 

“Johnny, may I ask you a few questions?’ Castiel asked as he slipped one hand into his coat, a move that Dean was only too familiar with. Dean literally leaped forward and grabbed Castiel’s wrist, stopping the detective from pulling out his badge. But Johnny already had his guard up. He stiffened visibly and gripped the mop he was holding so tight his knuckles were turning white.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Cas here just wants to know some stuff,” Dean said, making sure Johnny was looking at him. “And I give you my word, nothing’s going to happen.” Johnny bit his lower lip and looked like he was going to hit Castiel on the head with the mop or chuck the mop and run or both. He swallowed looked hard at Dean and seemed to clam down a little, loosening his grip around the mop.

“Okay….” Johnny still sounded uncertain but at least he didin’t look like ha had a stick shoved up his ass. His eyes travelled from Dean to Castiel and strayed down, staring at Castiel’s chest. Dean frowned. What on ear—

“Dean,” Castiel said. Dean snapped back to Cas and realised (to his horror) that he still had a firm grip on Castiel’s wrist. And at the very same moment he also realised how warm Castiel felt, his pulse beating steadily under the press of Dean’s thumb. He was also aware that he was feeling incredibly hot and ohshitohshitohshit. Castiel tilted his head and Dean let go instantaneously, letting Cas hand fall to its side. He wondered how long had he been holding Castiel’s hand? Then reasoned he wasn’t actually holding Castiel’s hand but gripping his wrist. Big difference there. Yup, real big.

At least, awkward moment aside, it seemed to be working in their favour because Johnny was clearly amused, biting his cheek and trying hard not to laugh.

Castiel was unfazed. “What did you work as at the Follet mansion?” Castiel asked once Johnny had a good grip of himself. The boy looked nervous again.

“This…this doesn’t have anything to…do with…you know…,” he stammered, casting a worried glance at Dean.

“No,” Castiel said.

Johnny relaxed a little more. “Oh, then it’s the murder, right? I watched the news. Someone ganked her?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

“Okay, uh… I was the gardener,” Johnny replied, returning to mop the mess of the floor.

“When did you start stealing from Mrs Follett?” Castiel asked. Johnny’s eyes popped and he stopped mopping abruptly.

“I thought this wasn’t about—,” Johnny mumbled.

“It isn’t,: Castiel said, not missing a beat. Dean nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner and Johnny resumed mopping.

“About three weeks ago,” he replied, making mopping look like gargantuan effort and trying his best not to look Castiel in the eye.

“How didn’t you manage to sell it?” Castiel asked as he continued to stare the boy down. Johnny mopped on belligerently. “I’m sure most of the jewellery was custom designed.” The floor was already clean but Johnny showed no sign of stopping.

“Johnny,” Dean said forcing the kid to look at him and Dean gave him an expecting look.

Johnny sighed. “Oh, okay! One day, you know, just like every normal day…”

“What is this? A fairytale?” Dean snapped tired of being encouraging and decided Johnny was in serious need for some verbal coaxing. “Get to the point.”

“Okay…I get a letter, telling me to nick some of Mrs Jez stuff. Got some money in it, you know, in advance…and a picture too, of the piece I was suppose to nick.” Johnny said, leaning his weight against the mop as he rocked back and forth on it.

“How did you hand it to him??” Castiel asked as he reached forward and held the mop firmly. He found Johnny’s persistent movements incredibly annoying. 

“He, well I think it’s a he, I’m not sure…,” he tried to wrestle the mop gently form Castiel. “Well, he told me to slip it under the can at Central Park, it was all in the letter. When I did, there was more money waiting for me…in an envelope,” Johnny paused, glanced briefly at Castiel and attempted to pull the mop away gain, it was a weak attempt and Castiel was as steady as a rock.

“Which trash can?” Castiel asked, suddenly able to catch Johnny’s eye when the boy made a total mistake of looking up from his sneakers.

“It varies every time,” Dean answered for him because Johnny was momentarily petrified into muteness. “He gets bout a hundred to three hundred bucks per delivery, not much if you ask me,” Dean added, giving Johnny time to get himself together.

“What happens if he doesn’t deliver?” Castiel asked, letting go off the mop as he turned to face Dean.

“Oh…that would be bad. I was late once and he called me, told me he knew ways of making my life very difficult if I fucked with him,” Johnny said finally coming around and finding his voice now that Castiel was no longer trying to drill a hole through his skull.

“He called you?,” Castiel asked in something that could have passed of as surprise by Castiel’ standard but to others it probably sounded as dry as Africa in drought.

“Yeah, got my house number…some how…,” Johnny shrugged sounding perplexed himself. “We done?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Where were you the night she was murdered?”. He turned away from Dean slightly and practically glared at Johnny but at least he wasn’t trying to laser beam Johnny brain so the kid didn’t clam up. Johnny shifted about, swallowed and looked everywhere but at Dean and Castiel. He hesitated, twiddled his toes and was trying his best not to look guilty.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Johnny, how….you son of a bitch,” he said, shaking his head. He wanted to yell but he was so angry that if he raised his voice it would probably reach the other side of New York. Johnny shrank into himself at Dean’s quiet fury, which was unusual, and a hell lot worse than him yelling his head off.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said quickly when Dean looked as if he was about to hit him on the head. Hard. “It was going to be the last time. I swear, Dean.” He looked like he was ready to fall on his knees and plead for mercy.

“Well, what did you take?’ Dean roared but in the noisy bar it didn’t seem to make much of a difference except to Ellen, who looked up from her counter and gave Dean a ‘look’.

“I didn’t get to. I thought nobody was home but then I saw someone entering the house,” Johnny looked away. “I got scared so I bailed.” He positioned himself behind the mop like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Who was it,” Castiel asked as Dean continued to try to vaporise Johnny with his eyes.

“I…I couldn’t see…very well…it was… kinda…dark…,” he stammered. And turned his eyes down to his sneakers

“Describe the figure,” Castiel said and watched Johnny fidget.

“Er…uhm…short hair, fair headed, I think…wearing a suit, skinny…,” he shook his head. “But like I said it was dark and I only had a glimpse before I ran.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said and Johnny let out a whoosh of relieved air from his lungs. He scuttled away to mop some other part of the room. Dean went after him.

“Hey, kid.” Johnny spun around. Dean leaned nearer to him. “If I ever catch you or get word that you’re back to petty theft, don’t expect me to bail you out again. In fact, I’m going to get hold of you and you will wish you’d never even lift a nickel, you got me?” 

“Uh…yeah, Dean. M’sorry.”

Dean patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “That’s okay just…stay out of trouble.” He left Johnny moping and went back to Cas who was studying the hideous table lamp.

“—know it’s stupid looking, “ Ellen was saying to the detective. “But my late husband loved it. I like to keep it around for sentimental reasons.” She did not beam when Dean appeared.

“Two beers, Ellen,” Dean said. He felt tired and worn out but Ellen didn’t give him the beers. All she gave him was a ‘look’. 

“You wanna explain what the hell just happened?”

“Why didn’t you just ask Captain Stoic?” Dean grumbled and Castiel blinked.

Ellen bristled. “Well, I’m asking you and you better damn well tell me why on earth are you harassing the kid you sent here in the first place?”

Castiel tapped the counter lightly. “It was an investigation, that’s all.” She glared at him but Castiel stared right back. There was no challenge in his gaze but something in his eyes made her dropped the matter. Dean was impressed. No one, no one stooped Ellen Harvelle.

Dean sighed and gave her a warm smile. “Well, Ellen, two beers? Please?”

Ellen rolled her eyes but pulled out to bottle of beers and slid them across the counter. Happy hour was coming on and suddenly the bar seemed way to crowded. Customers were overwhelming Ellen and she didn’t have any time to badger Dean. Johnny quickly came over to give her a hand. Dean pressed one bottle into Castiel’s hand, pulled out a chair from the nearest table and sat himself down.

Castiel stood where he was. He wasn’t sure how to react. He had planned to leave after the interview but Dean had passed him a bottle of cold bear, an indication that Dean wanted him to stay. But Dean did not like him so he wasn’t sure what Dean expected of him.

“You’re gonna sit, Cas?” Dean asked as he watched Castiel’s perplexed face. Seriously, who hesitates over beer? Oh, wait, Castiel the Paranoid Android. “Hey you want to stand there ‘till morning that’s fine by me.” Dean took a long and much needed drink, watching Cas from the corner of his eye.

Castiel looked at Dean, then at the chair Dean was indicating and sat down slowly. Dean, he decided, said the strangest things and was full of contradictions. “Did you get him this job?” he asked as they watched Johnny, working behind the counter, pouring pint after pint of beer.

“Yeah, the kid’s gotta feed himself…legally,” Dean replied as he drank beer and slouched into a snug position on the chair. They slipped into a comfortable silent, Dean drinking beer and Castiel watching the comings and goings of customers and the busy flow of after hours New York traffic crawling pass the window.

“I think I understand why that woman took your bribe,” Castiel said finally, blue eyes catching hold of Dean indiscreetly and sudden all at once. Castiel’s voice wasn’t louder than it normally was but somehow Dean could hear every word despite the din of the bar. Usually when Sam and him were here at this hour, Sam would have to shout to get his attention or snap his fingers in front of him if Dean was checking out some girl by the bar. He watched he languid movement of Castiel’s mouth, soft and pink in the glow of the orange lamps. “She had children and she had just lost her source of income,” Castiel was saying. Dean noticed water droplets running down his slim pale fingers that were wrapped around the bottle of chilled beer. “You have a way with people, Dean,” Castiel said softly. It was just a casual observation, one that Dean already knew but still, something warm stirred inside him.

“Well, er…thanks, I guess…,” he mumbled, not really sure what to say to that. He knew he was good at his job but no one actually told him so directly before. It was a nice change but a little unsettling. “What’s the matter, Cas? Can’t hold your liquor?” Dean asked when he realised Cas hadn’t even open the bottle cap of the beer.

“It is…inappropriate for me to drink while I am working,” Castiel said slowly and contented himself with watching other people around him get drunk and flirt like he was some naturalist studying the wild behaviours of primitive primates.

“Well, Cas,” Dean said. “Hate to break it to you but I’m pretty sure working hours are over so, why don’t you cut yourself some slack and drink some beer.”

Castiel looked uncertainly at the bottle before he finally decided to give it a try and downed half the bottle with ease like it was mere water. Dean stared with his mouth half open. Well, Cas could hold his liquor alright but you don’t just drink half a bottle without batting an eyelash.

“Dude!” Dean said. Castiel placed the bottle down giving Dean a wide eyed look that was a mixture of surprise and confusion at Dean’s tone. “Are you even tasting what’s going into your mouth?” Beer, although not half as classy as wine, deserved to be tasted especially Ellen’s own personally brewed beer,

“Yes,” Castiel nodded sagely. “It tasted bitter.” He frowned. It wasn’t as if this was his first time drinking beer. Dean’s insistence that he enjoyed his beer was most unnecessary. Dean ran a hand over his face at Castiel’s blunt response. Maybe the guy just wasn’t into tasting. He laughed softly. Ellen would be so pissed if she heard that her beer was just ‘bitter’. Castiel shrugged and downed the other half of the beer.

Dean leaned over, eyes glinting. “What do you think about whiskey?” he asked with a mischievous grin that would send sane men running for the hills. Castiel looked back at him, head tilted to one side as he reflected on Dean’s proposition.

Finally, he sighed and said. “I do not think much about whiskey.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went over to the counter, leaned over it and yelled something to Ellen. He returned to the table with a bottle of dark liquid amber and two shot glasses. Castiel watched as Dean filed both glasses with copious amount of whiskey and passed one to him. Dean grinned almost boyishly. “Jack Daniels, try it.” Castiel raised his eyebrows, took the glass and drank it. It didn’t feel like much except for a burn down his throat which faded quickly into a deep warmth in his chest. “Whoa,” Dean said, impressed and poured Cas another glass. Castiel continued to drain glass after glass that Dean poured. 

Finally Dean gave up on his mission of trying to get Castiel drunk and sat back to nurse his own drink. “So, why did you become a cop?” He was only on his third drink but Castiel, who must have had at least half a dozen or so still looked bushy tailed and bright eyed. No signs of keeling over anytime soon and Cas had now conceded to pour his own drink.

“Because it was expected of me…what my family expects of me,” Castiel said, suddenly becoming very interested in the tiny glass he was holding, turning it around to catch the light. Dean nodded understandingly. He knew a thing or two about expectations and filling shoes that were much too big. He reached over for the whiskey and filled Castiel’s empty cup.

“Well, yeah, my dad was pretty demanding too, sometimes…but he wasn’t around often.” Dean shrugged. Castiel looked at him questioningly.

Dean drank the whiskey slowly. “Umm…my dad was a cop, you know, weird but true. He was kinda…distant, after mom died. Sort of went workaholic. He left homicide,” Dean said, looking into his empty glass. “And…uh… joined organized crime as an undercover, so he wasn’t around much. Then he got killed in the line of duty so, it was just me and Sam, depending on each other and trying to survive…,” Dean trailed off. He could still remember the day his mom died in that stupid fire. Arson… why, he couldn’t remember and John would never say. And then their dad just disappeared and what was left of him was a cold severe being to far away for either he or Sam to reach. Then dad died and Dean had to work his ass off, dropping in and out of school so Sam could get through and head for university….

“Dean? Dean,” Castiel was tapping his hand softly. 

“Huh?” He jolted back to the bar, the warm feel of Castiel’s fingers on the back of his hand and blinked. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly, holding Dean’s gaze like he was the one that had spilled all his past misery and Dean had been kind enough to listen. His fingers pressed gently into Dean’s hand and drew away. Dean shook his head and laughed. 

“Okay…sorry ‘bout that, I don’t usually do heart to heart sessions…,” Dean said, smiling to break the depressing atmosphere. He wasn’t a girl but Castiel was the only person that somehow managed to break down all his defences without even trying, drew the story out of Dean without even saying a word and comforted him with just a touch. It made him feel more than a little scared…this thing that Castiel could do to him. He decided not to think about it. “So, why are you following me exactly?” he asked trying to shift the mood. “Don’t you have an investigation?” 

Castiel’s blue eyes bore into his like he was trying to see if Dean was truly alright. Finally he said, “It was an order from my lieutenant. For some reason they find you very threatening. I was suppose to arrest you if you tried to investigate on your own.” He was drinking his 7th or 8th glass and was jus starting to feel its effects,

“But you didn’t arrest me,” Dean said in surprise. “And…you’re not going to?”

“No, Dean. I’m not. If I wanted to I could have done so when you attacked me in that alley.” Castiel swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.

“I did not att—,” Before Dean could begin to protest Castiel started to speak again.

”But I’m having doubts about my superiors actions. It seems they have promised Mr. Follett something.” He stared hard at the whiskey bottle like it would suddenly grow a mouth and give him all the answers he needed. Dean laughed because after all these years of service Castiel only starts to question his superiors now?

“Speaking of Follett, what was Jezebel Follett shot with?” Dean asked casually. He noticed that Castiel was starting to flush a little, cheeks tinge with a little pink that made him seem softer and more compliant than before and his eyes were distracted. But when Dean spoke they snapped back to him with focus.

“It was a Snub Nose.38, the same gun that Mrs. Follett owns but it’s missing.”

“Okay, so, who found the body?” Dean asked hoping that Castiel would answer. Castiel paused and ran a tongue over his lower lip and closed his eyes. Dean’s mind had gone so blank you could fill in with thirty different colours and still have plenty of white spaces left.

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. “The secretary…, I’m sorry, Dean. I have to go,” he said as he shook his head, trying to clear it of the effects of alcohol. He stood up to leave. “Thank you, Dean. It was pleasant talking to you.” Guilt immediately swept over Dean. Here Cas was, being the nicest cop on the planet and Dean had to go and get him drunk to harass him about the case. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed Castiel’s wrist. He couldn’t let the man leave thinking that what Dean was doing the whole time was because Cas would loosen up and give him information, because Dean honestly wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry I asked about the case. I won’t push it again,” Dean said quickly as an equally guilty looking Cas looked down at him.

“I know…but I really have to go, Dean,” Castiel said. “And you should stop drinking now or you wouldn’t be able to drive home.” He pulled away from Dean and made for the door with a nod to Ellen as he passed. The truth was, Castiel was afraid he would not be able to keep his mouth shut, not when Dean made him feel so comfortable. He could not seem to deny Dean anything. It was strange and felt just a little dangerous. He shook his head again as he pushed open the bar’s door. The fresh air helped. He took steady steps to his Pontiac, making his way from the bar and from Dean.

“Hey, kid,” Ellen said as she took away the whiskey Dean was looking contemplatively at. “Party time’s over.” She sighed at the obvious disappointment that had crept on to Dean’s face. “Look, you held him up long enough. Unlike you, I’m sure Castiel has to keep regular hours.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “And I’m sure you two can find time to meet up, business associates that you are.” 

“I—I think I should head home,” Dean said to himself then to Ellen. Seemed like he didn’t hear a word she said. She stared at him in wonderment and watched him place a few notes on the counter looking like someone kicked his puppy.

Ellen made sure Dean got into his car just fine before she took the money to the cashier. “Business associates, my ass,” she muttered under her breath.

Dean revved the engine of the Impala and began the drive home. Somehow, the look that Castiel gave him made him feel like the planet’s biggest a-hole. It was even more effective than ten of Sam’s bitch faces put together.

*

 

Dean decided to drop by Sam’s place after he left Ellen’s bar, which conveniently was on the floor below his apartment, for now at least. Sam would be getting married soon and he had already started hunting for a larger place that would accommodate his dream of the white picket fence and plenty of little Sammies running around. 

It wasn’t that Dean was jealous or anything, he was really happy for Sam but still he felt reluctant to se him leave. Since their mom died, it had always been just him and Sam, looking out for each other when John was hardly ever around, there was no one else, just Dean and Sam. But now, there was Jessica and although Dean liked her tremendously, it still took sometime for him to accept that she would occupy a huge space in Sam’s life and one day (that day coming very soon) she was going to take Sam away. Not away away but at least further from Dean, if only physically. It wouldn’t be Dean and Sam anymore, it was Jess and Sam with Dean left in an old apartment, all by himself, chasing down God-knows-what for the rest of his life, till he died an old man. Alone.

Dean shook his head. That was pathetic. Since when did he contract old maid syndrome? Since Sam still lived below him, Dean was going to use that to his fullest advantage. He unlocked Sam’s door with the spare key he had and allowed himself in. Sam was pacing the small living room while talking on the phone and he failed to notice his brother entering. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted cheerfully. Sam spun around to face his brother with a look of surprise that quickly rearranged itself to a look of annoyance. He hated that Dean kept barging in without ever knocking. Luckily, this time Sam wasn’t getting it on with Jess on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m still here…no…just Dean,” Sam said into the phone. He placed a hand on it as he turned to Dean. “It’s Anna,” then added. “If you’re hungry there’s some mac and cheese in the fridge.” He didn’t even finish the sentence before Dean was already rummaging through the fridge.

“Anna, huh? Great, tell her I said hi,” Dean said, taking out the bowl of macaroni and cheese. Sam watched as his brother not only helped himself to mac and cheese but also some cold bits of chicken, a small bowl of mash potatoes from yesterday and Sam’s salad.

“Dude! You don’t even eat salad.” Sam was hunching his shoulders in a way only he could and was waving his hands in disbelief.

“Well, gotta have my vegetables sometimes,” Dean replied grinning and shoved a spoonful into his mouth. He gagged. “Ugh! What the hell is this?” He chugged down some water and threw the salad back into the fridge before popping the macaroni into the microwave.

Sam was talking to Anna. “No…nothing, Dean’s being a jerk.” Dean gave a small cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘bitch’. “Yeah…hold on a sec,” he turned to Dean with a scowl. “Hey, if you don’t like it, why even try to eat it? Besides, you hate salad. You’re like allergic to vegetables or something.”

Dean replaced the macaroni with the chicken. “Hey, I eat salad…occasionally. I don’t eat rabbit food.”

“Yeah, okay…I see…I’ll tell him…right, bye,” Sam was saying and he hung up.

“What did she want?” asked Dean as he mixed the macaroni around before eating some. When Anna called, it usually meant business. 

“I called her, Dean. About the Follet case?” Sam said in a tone that sounded like Dean needed reminding, that there was a murder going on, a case to solve and Dean was suffering amnesia.

“Anghd?” Dean said with a mouthful of food. God, was he starving and God, was Jessica a great cook. Speaking of which, where was she?

“Night shift,” Sam replied, partially reading his mind and partially because Dean was making an obvious show of scanning the hall and trying to peek into the bedroom. Right, thought Dean, nurses had night shifts too. That was a pity because if Jess was here, she probably cook him something completely new from that leftover chicken.

Sam rolled his eyes. He was glad Jess wasn’t here. She’d probably make Dean a full course meal and Dean would never leave for the night. Sometimes he suspected Dean probably entertained the idea of marrying Jess just for her cooking. “Anyway,” he continued. “Anna said she was covering the launching of Rosstain’s Corp new hotel and she can vouch that he was there the whole night and at the dinner party afterwards, which was suppose to be attended by Jezebel Follet but she didn’t turn up.”

“And he sends his secretary to check on her, who finds her dead,” Dean said as he placed the now empty bowl into the sink and took out the chicken from the microwave but didn’t feel much for it. He placed it on the counter.

“How did you know that?” Sam asked as he watched Dean put the chicken back into the fridge and started to wash the bowl. There was a short but distinct pause when the only sound in the kitchen was that of running water.

“Cas told me,” Dean said, putting the bowl back into the cabinet and drying his hands on a hand towel. He didn’t turn around to see Sam’s shocked incredulous expression.

“Cas? As in Detective Castiel? Cas?” Sam said, bewildered. How his brother got from ‘not that much of a prick’ to giving the guy a nick name in less than 24 hours was beyond him.

“Yep,” Dean said as he poured himself more water to drink. He glared at Sam, just daring him to say anything, anything at all. He practically oozed defensiveness.

Sam shrugged a half grin and lifted his hands in a placating manner. “Whoa, okay…umm…Anna said you should be careful around him. He’s still a cop you know.” He calmed his racing brain. Dean had never gotten this close to someone so fast. It was kind of unnerving.

“Oh, yeah? Well, how the hell does Anna know what’s happening?” Dean demanded. He knew Anna meant well but that didn’t give her a right to assume she knew better than Dean. Sam shrugged again. Anna had sources, real good sources for a reporter, that’s for sure. 

*

 

A tired looking lady asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he ordered a strong cup of tea. It was approaching twelve and the diner was almost empty, save for one or two people who looked worn out and dishearten. Castiel glanced vaguely at his watch, the bright lights of the diner made the numbers dance before his eyes. He shook his head. Uriel was atypically late. 

He could still feel the effects of the whiskey, pumping blood through his head. Dean had asked him not to go; Dean had asked him to stay. He ran absent fingers on his wrist where Dean had grabbed him, twice, if he recalled correctly. The strength and warmth of Dean’s grasp made an impression, vague and pointless but Castiel could still remember that warmth, however vague the impression was. The look of disappointment on Dean’s face when Castiel pulled away was another thing that was evident in Castiel mind. It was just a glimpse but Castiel felt immediately sorry. No matter how much he enjoyed Dean’s company, he had a job to do and an appointment to keep with Uriel.

A shadow fell across the table. “Hello, Castiel,” Uriel said as he sat down. The waitress came around to their table, bringing Castiel’s tea. It was lukewarm but he accepted it with grateful thanks anyway.

“And what will you have?” the waitress asked Uriel in a bored tired voice, which was completely understandable considering how late it was.

“Coffee, no sugar, no milk, just plain coffee,” Uriel said. She wrote it down and slowly went to get him the coffee.

Castiel drank the tea but eyed Uriel. “Did you find anything?”

“Yes and no,” Uriel replied. He paused as he studied Castiel for a whole minute. “You have been drinking,” he observed with a hint of reproach in his tone.

“Yes, I have but I am not drunk, if that are where your suspicions are directed,” Castiel countered. Although he normally didn’t drink, if he chose to, it was his free will. 

Uriel raised his eyebrows in reply. “Anyhow,” he said, giving Castiel a look that was something between distrust and amusement. “I interviewed the people on the list and there was only one person who had lost a cufflink, an Abraham Moore. He admitted it freely enough, went to see Mrs. Follett five days prior to her death with an attempt to talk her out of divorcing Paul Follett.”

“Jezebel was going to divorce her husband…what reason does he have for interfering with his employers private affairs?”

“It seems, with the economic down turn, the company’s is not doing too well. Jezebel’s father is a prime investor in Rosstain Corp. If they were to split up, Jezebel’s father would most likely pull out. The Board does not want to run that risk.”

Castiel contemplated this. “How did he lose his cuff link?”

Uriel gave a dark chuckle. “He was attacked by Mrs. Follett.” He smiled in amusement as he recalled the interview and at Castiel’s wide eyed expression. The woman’s a real crazy bitch. I just told her I didn’t think it was wise for her to divorce him just yet, not when the company’s having a bit of a hitch. And she told me to mind my own fucking business and she just came at me, like real crazy, hitting scratching. I tell you, she needs to be in an institution. I didn’t report it ‘cause I don’t want to loose my job. Real crazy bitch she was. “Stuck his nose where it didn’t belong,” Uriel said knowingly.

“That’s hardly a solid motive for murder,” Castiel said. The tea was almost finished but he still felt hot ad the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pounding in his ears was starting to feel exasperating.

“He didn’t kill her, I’m afraid. He was at the Rosstain Corp dinner when she was killed, got plenty of witnesses to prove it.” His coffee finally arrived. It was milked and probably sugared too. He grunted in dissatisfaction and glared at the waitress but she had already disappeared.

“We should speak to Jennifer Udell,” Castiel said. Uriel tried the coffee and frowned heavily. He set the cup down and pushed it aside.

“Why?”

“She was one of the few people who saw Jezebel Follett frequently,” Castiel said as his eyes darted briefly to the wall behind the diner’s counter. He seemed to be reading the specials for the day and pointedly avoiding Uriel’s gaze.

“And you learned this…how?” Uriel asked, deliberately slow and accusing, a tone he had used earlier.

“I have my sources, as do you.” Castiel returned Uriel’s stare. The words I do not question how you obtain every information you present, do I? hung solemnly unspoken in the air. “Udell might know something about Mrs Follet that we do not.” He hoped he had stopped Uriel from prying. Despite the conviction of his words, Castiel knew If Uriel found out he had gotten the information from following Dean, he would be made to answer specifics he did not care to go into and that would make things unnecessarily complicated.

Uriel crossed his hands and leaned back. “Fine,” Uriel said, apparently he had decided not to press the matter any further but he still eyes Castiel with growing suspicion.

“I would like to question Jennifer Udell myself but that is not possible because Raphael had me following Dean Winchester. I suppose you would have to do the best you can with the information I’m about to give,” Castiel said, prepared to launch into his story but Uriel raised a hand to stop him.

“How about,” Uriel had a glint in his eyes. “You pay Udell a visit and I’ll deal with Dean Winchester?”

Uriel’s offer was tempting and logical. He had all the essential details about Udell already in his head. It was practical that he should question her. Dean played on his mind. He did not think Dean would be thrilled about having Uriel following him around. No, Dean would not be pleased but the choice was obvious. The case always comes first.

“Thank you, Uriel,” Castiel said to a smiling Uriel. Already he was beginning to feel bad about Dean.

*

Dean walked out the building to his Impala parked under a shady tree in the parking lot. The morning sun glinted off he shiny rims and hood. He felt a swell of pride. Nothing made him feel better than a well-kept good-looking car (except, of course, a good-looking girl). He stopped dead.

There was a familiar figure opposite the road, sitting in a silver sedan, drinking coffee. The figure looked up and flashed pearly whites at him.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

The first thought that raced through Dean’s mind was, this day sucks already and it haven’t even started yet. The second but more pronounced line of thought that followed was: Where the hell is Cas? He had a gut wrenching moment that yesterday’s event must have something to do with Castiel’s absence today. Maybe Dean crossed a personal line of Castiel’s, with all the booze drinking and questioning. It reasoned to stand that Cas would probably want to avoid him for now.  
He huffed a sigh and got into his car. Maybe if he pretended Uriel didn’t exist, the man would poof out of existence. It didn’t work. 

Dean carefully reversed then slam his foot down on the accelerator and sped out of the parking lot so fast he left a trail of smoke behind him. From the rear-view mirror, he could see Uriel’s silver sedan tailing two cars behind him at a leisurely pace. Dean made a sharp swerve to a junction on his right, cut across a back lane and appeared on the other side of the road. A quick glance told him Uriel was nowhere in sight. He drove evasive manoeuvres for a good ten minutes. No Uriel. So far, so good. Then, suddenly a silver sedan dove round the corner, following Dean closely behind. Uriel’s mouth was a thin grim line but his eyes burned with satisfaction.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed. He signaled, turned the Impala to his right and sped up. Then drove around town for half an hour, Uriel appearing and disappearing like Houdini on wheels. The shitty thing was, Dean was being tailed by a cop and they both knew it, he had to drive within the speed limit or Uriel had every right to make him pull over. Dean accompanied Led Zeppelin with a litany of his own curses. He considered driving as far as possible, out to the highway, all the way to San Francisco if he had to, just to see if Uriel would tag along but a more reasonable part of his brain told him it was a waste of time and gas.

And he was hungry.

Frustrated and defeated and barely human with the lack of coffee, Dean eased the Impala up to a favourite diner of his, which he knew served good eggs. He got out and spotted Uriel parked across the street where he could watch the diner and Dean. It was getting kind of creepy. Dean went into the diner and sat down near the window where he could watch Uriel watch him.

“Bacon and eggs, Dean?” asked the blonde waitress Dean had dated for a while (for a while being two days). Her name was Amy.

“Absolutely, beautiful,” Dean said, turning on the charm. She blushed and smiled at him sweetly. “Coffee too, if you don’t mind.” As she went off to pass his order and get his much needed coffee, Dean pulled out his cell phone.

“Hey, Sam.” He frowned when he heard some grumbling from the other end and a faint female voice in the background. Jessica.

“What, Dean?” Sam answered his voice groggy and grumpy with sleep. Dean could almost picture the face Sam was pulling. 

“Well, good morning to you too. Nice to know you’re so pleasant when your brother calls.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. G’ morning, jerk. Now what?”

“I’m being followed by Detective Uriel, Cas’s jackass partner, so, I need a favour—,” Dean hadn’t finished before Sam grunted a ‘no’. He heard the sounds of sheets rustling and Sam getting out of bed, away from Jessica. 

“No, Dean. I’m sorry but I can’t.”

“Oh, come on—.”

“Jess and I were suppose to take our wedding photos yesterday but I cancelled it at the very last moment because I had to look into the Follett case for you. Thankfully, the photographer and Jess are real close and he cleared his schedule to do it today. So, no, Dean, I’m really sorry,” Sam said all of this in one long breath, like if he said it any slower he might change his mind about helping Dean out.

When the silence stretched too long, Sam said. “Look, Dean, I would really love to help, it’s just—“

Dean cut in for him. “It’s just you need to dress up like Ken doll and stick yourself in a wedding cake…okay, sorry, I didn’t mean that, haven’t had coffee….” He was about to say. ‘What the fuck do I do now?’ when a faint female voice could be heard saying, “Can I have that?”

“Hi, Dean. How bad is your situation?” Jessica asked, her usual cheery self. She was in such high spirits that Dean felt bad ruining her photo shoot yesterday and tweaking with her second attempt today.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Just got King Kong on wheels following me around. I’ll live,” Dean said as he shook some pepper and salt onto his eggs when Amy plopped it down in front of him with the steaming mug from heaven.

“Okay. Why don’t you come at join us at the studio? That way you’ll have something to do while you wait this guy off and I’m pretty sure the detective’s going to be bored out of his mind seeing a lovey dovey couple take wedding pictures,” Jessica said in a hopeful tone. Dean smiled and because he liked Jess so much he refrained from saying that he probably be bored right out of his skull too. She was inviting him to come along and take pictures like a part of the family. He felt warm and touched. One thing that Dean real liked about Jessica was that she was really nice and smart. He was pretty sure Sam’s and her kids would be geniuses. 

“Thanks, Jess, I’ll do that,” Dean said. Well, if Uriel wanted to follow him around he was going to make sure Uriel had the worst day of his life, he was going to be so boring Uriel’s brain melted out from his ears, he was going to be as dull as a rock, so dull, Uriel never wanted to look at the Excessively Uninteresting Unimpressive Life of Dull Dean Winchester ever again.

*

Elegant was the word that came to mind when Castiel arrived at Jennifer Udell’s town house. It was of an old Edwardian design with large framed windows, slanting rooms, beautiful steps that led up to a polished oak door. The house had the charm of the old world and in its own way opened a small window to the character of its owner.

He had called Rosstain Corp earlier and had been informed Jennifer Udell had taken the day off. He house was occupied, her car in the garage. He walked up the steps and rang the bell. A maid in her late thirties or early forties opened the door and eyed Castiel suspiciously.

“Castiel, detective,” he said as he showed her his badge. The little peered from the door cautiously. She studied the badge and after a moment, her features rearranged themselves to something more pleasant and with due respect. 

“One moment, sir, if you please,” she said, before closing the door, leaving Castiel to stand there for several minutes. The door opened again. “Miss Udell will see you now, sir.”

Castiel entered into a well-furnished hall. There was an antique round table in the middle, which did not serve any particular purpose except to hold a vase full of pink carnations. There was a large painting on one wall, Turner, perhaps, the other wall was covered with family portraits and photos. One had been recently remove, Castiel notice, leaving a lighter shade on the part of the wall where it used to be.

The maid led Castiel up the stairs to a smaller living room. Here the paintings were modern, abstract but the furniture still had a aged feel. It was a strange but wonderful blend of different eras. Udell herself sat on a dark leather sofa. Her eyes were red but only slightly and she held a cup of tea in one hand. She stood up as he entered, placing the cup down and holding her hand towards him. 

“Hello, detective. How may I help you?” she said as she shook his hand. Her grip was firm and steady. She gestured him to the chair opposite hers.

Castiel clanked around briefly before he sat himself down. “I need to ask you some questions regarding Jezebel Follett. I hear you are familiar with her.” The leather chair wrapped itself comfortably around his legs and torso. A most snug piece of furniture. He nearly sank into it. For some unknown reason it reminded him strangely of Dean and by remembering Dean, he remembered leaving him to Uriel. And for a brief moment guilt spread in his chest, but he quickly repressed it before it became a distraction. Returning to the task at hand, he looked up at the short haired lady before him.

“Familiar would be an understatement,” Udell replied with a small smile, meeting his gaze. “We were very close. I’ll answer anything that I can.” She poured another cup of tea and offered it to him. Castiel had no choice but to accept it.

“How intimate were you?” Castiel asked. He brought the tea close and the whiff of it brought the familiarity of Earl Grey to his senses. He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.

*  
The hot liquid went down Dean’s throat, thick, strong and just what he needed. Coffee, he decided, was a drink that could bring men back to life from whichever planet they choose to hang out after they died. It was his third cup of coffee, this one Sam had bought for him earlier. Dean leaned back against the blue paneled studio wall, lazily studying his brother and sister-in-law to betake wedding picture after wedding picture. Sam was grinning from ear to ear, dressed in a black tux with double breasted cutting and Jess had thrown her head back, laughing in childish delight when Sam lifted her off the ground. 

Dean had to smile. Every now and then, he pushed back the curtains and looked out from the large studio windows where Uriel was sitting across the street in his shiny sedan. Uriel was drinking coffee like him and eating a sandwich, looking frustrated and plain bored. Dean stepped clearer into view and waited until Uriel caught sight of him. He waved and smiled. Uriel looked murderous. 

“Dean,” called Jessica. She tugged his arm to get his attention. Dean turned away from the window, still grinning and looked at her in her long lacy gown. She was gorgeous, her blonde hair loose and flowing and her face practically radiating happiness. “Wanna take some pictures together? All three of us,” she said in that same hopeful voice and hopeful smile that made Dean feel like he was violating some unwritten law if he said ‘no’. She didn’t bother to wait for his answer but plucked the paper cup form his hand and settled it on a table nearby.

Dean eyed the studio and turned to her. “They do that?” He was starting to feel more and more like a third wheel and he didn’t want to be intruding on anything.

Jess thumped him playfully on the arm. “Of course, silly, you’re family.”

“Family shots are usually booked in advanced. Me and Jess go long way back, I’m sure I could squeeze you in,” the photographer said, appearing behind Jess with a bright smile. “I would love to see you in a tux,” he added. Kristian or was it Kris or Chris…? It was along those lines.

“I hate tuxedoes,” Dean said. He stuffed his hands into his leather jacket and made sure he looked proud of his olive green shirt and jeans. “Besides, I obviously do not have one.” Kris/Chris did not seem to take any notice of Dean’s uneasiness.

“That won’t be a problem. They have spares you can borrow here,” Sam said helpfully and with a hint of hopefulness that could match his fiancée. Gee, thanks, Sam, Dean thought. They were really a match made in heaven. After a few more minutes of encouraging from Kris/Chris and Jess and lots of large puppy eyes from Sam, Dean finally gave in and let himself be ushered into the dressing room with a set of tux. It had been a long time since he had worn a tux. The last time he had one belonged to their dad, which he wore to prom and ended up setting it on fire with the involvement of some gin and some chick and a cigarette. 

“You look great, Dean,” Jessica said when he had emerged from the dressing room. Sam was discussing something with the photographer.

“Yeah, yeah.” He shifted around. Tuxedoes always made him feel self-conscious like a fish out of water or more like trying to squeeze into the hollow of a tree when you are a 20-foot mammoth; they were just so tight and containing. He tugged at the sleeves and tried to loosen his collar. Jessica pushed his hands away and helped him with his bow tie.

“He likes you, you know, thinks you’re hot,” Jessica said as she straightened his coat.

“What? Who?” Dean said looking confused because he sure as hell had no idea what she was talking about.

“Christopher,” Jess said, frowning and smoothening his tux like he was sixteen and she was a proud mom grooming her son for prom.

“Oh—er—huh,” was all he could manage. Awkward did not even begin to define the situation. He peered over Jessica towards the photographer in question. Christopher had finished talking to Sam and was now setting the set for another round of shots. He was good looking enough to be an actor and he had really nice hair, blond and pale blue eyes that were warm and friendly, nice eyes, but he preferred eyes that possessed a darker shade of blue. An involuntary image of Castiel popped into his head. He shook it away.

Kris... Christopher looked up and smiled at Dean when he noticed Dean watching him, Dean smiled back more out of politeness that this guy was Jess’s friend that a come on smile that the other man was giving him. Dean dated girls mostly, guys were like something rare that came along once in while, I-like-vanilla-but-sometimes-I-like-chocolate sort of thing. It wasn’t that he was scared of that, Dean was perfectly at ease dating guys but he was also perfectly fine not dating them. Girls were so much easier, no hassle, less work and the truth was he’d never met a guy he really felt at ease with… but then they wasn’t many girls that made him feel any more relaxed either. The thought made him feel a little pathetic, only a little tiny bit but still there. 

As he buttoned up his cuffs, Jessica had started to walk towards her friend.

“Hold it,” Dean said as he caught her arm just in time, before she got out of reach. “What are you doing?” he whispered exasperatedly.

“Trying to get you a social life. You should go out with people sometimes, Dean,” she said and Dean could see that she really meant well but how as he going to tell her that he knew it wasn’t going to work even before he gave it a shot.

“I do see people,” he said in defence. Jessica raised her eyebrows at his reply before looking at him more seriously.

“I don’t mean those quick flings that you do, I mean an actual date, where you get to know one another and talk about interest, not just meaningless sex,” Jessica said. She was sounding more and more like Sam by the minute.

“But I—I have an appointment tonight,” Dean lied. Lying to Jess was so not cool but hey, he could make an appointment if needed.

“Okay, Dean, an appointment? Right…with whom? Your detective friend?”

Sam was going die. Dean was going to skewer him on a pole and roast his ass over the biggest furnace in history. “Can he ever keep his goddamn mouth shut?” Dean grumbled, glowering at Sam but his brother wasn’t looking anyway, so it made little effect.

“We are going to get married, Dean, of course he tells me things. Besides, we’re just worried,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Sam and looking pointedly back at him. “About you.”

“There is nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, I’m just trying to help,” Jess said kindly. She patted him on the arm and let her hand fall to the side. “But you know—.”

“Time to take some pictures, guys,” Sam called out brightly, effectively stopping Jessica from giving Dean a lecture on Dating 101. Dean was grateful. As they walked to the set together, Dean looked at Christopher with closer scrutiny. He was dashing, blonde hair, tall, light brown eyes slender but not skinny and he had been hitting on Dean since the beginning, only that Dan failed to notice until Jessica pointed it out to him. Christopher was nice but Dean’s mind was preoccupied today, drifting elsewhere. He smiled and grinned at the camera when needed but when the light flashed, he was drifting again. What was Uriel doing now? Fucked off to do something better hopefully. Inevitably, Dean’s head did a 360º turn back to Castiel. Why on earth had Cas been replaced by Uriel? It made Dean feel bad and unhappy all over again. What was Cas doing now?

*

 

“We spend a lot of time together. She confided a lot to me,” Jennifer Udell said. Castiel squinted at his tea and stared hard at it, the taste was not unpleasant but it wasn’t he taste of the Earl grey he was accustomed to.

“Earl Grey with ginger, Detective,” Udell informed him with a smile. Castiel placed the cup down carefully on the glass coffee table. He could almost hear Dean’s reaction if he was made to drink this. Tea and ginger? That’s disgusting! You drink this stuff? Though, he may not have known him for very long, Castiel knew enough to know the Dean wasn’t a ginger tea type of guy.

“How would you describe the relationship between Mrs. Follett and her husband?” he asked.

“Variable,” she shrugged. “It was a roller coaster ride. One minute they were great ad happy, next thing you know, she’s crying, he’s angry.” She shook her head at the thought of it.

“Did she ever talk to you about divorce?”

“Couple of times but only when she was really upset.” Udell bit her lower lip and rub her hands together. “She gave it serious considerations recently, very upset by Paul’s frequent unexplained disappearances. That’s why she hired the investigator. She thought Paul was cheating on her.”

Castiel inched slightly nearer and looked her in the eye. “The investigator found no evidence that he had a mistress.” He held her gaze then averted his eyes to scan the room, a trait which made most people nervous.

“Oh?” Udell said in surprise. Castiel eyes settled on a photograph of Jennifer and an older lady who looked quite like her, whom, Castiel figured, must be her mother. He stood up and move to wards it so suddenly, that Udell was quite taken aback.

Castiel studied the photograph on the wall closely. “You…recently cut your hair.” The ginger haired lady in the photograph was wearing her curls loose, streaming down her shoulders as she sat next to her mother. They were both smiling. Castiel did not mean it as a question but a statement to himself.

Udell hesitated. She wasn’t sure where the detective was taking this. “Well, er…yes, fairly recently, actually.” She ran her fingers unconsciously through her short locks.

“Before the launching of Rosstain Hotel,” Castiel said softly but audible enough for Udell to hear. He traced his fingers idly on the frame of the photo and narrowed his eyes as he noticed a gold locket Jennifer Udell was wearing in the picture.

‘Yes I though I try something new. Jen always said I should do something different…,” her voice trailed away. She was downright miserable. Castiel turn around to see her blink away tears and stifle a sob. With great effort, she controlled herself.

Castiel straightened. “I suppose we are finished here.” He placed the picture down onto the mantelpiece and nodded at her. Udell smile gratefully and stood up.

“Let me walk you out, Detective,” she said as she began to show him out of the room. He followed her down the steps and at the hall, he paused momentarily .

“What happened to it?” Castiel asked as he indicated to the empty space on the wall, where he noticed the missing picture earlier.

She followed his gaze till it rested on the empty part of the wall. “It broke,” Udell replied regrettably. She led him out of the door and before he turned away she took his hand. “Detective,” her voice trembled with emotion. “Find out who did this to her.”

“I will.”

Jennifer Udell nodded courteously at him before closing the door. Castiel stood there, staring at the door. It occurred to him that her wide athletic shoulders and firm built made her look rather masculine with such short hair.

*

Castiel’s eyes moved from the blaring glare of his monitor to the digital clock on his desk.. iw was a quarter past nine and the sky was a dark shade of blue, which reminded him just how long he had been sitting there.. He raised a hand to rub his neck, stiff from concentrating to long on the computer. Castiel straightened his back and stretched. The paperwork was all finished so he decided it was best to call Uriel and fill him in on all the details. He shut his eyes momentarily as he waited for Uriel to answer. They were dry from the lack of blinking. The beeping on the line stopped.

“Hello, Uriel. How is—what has Dean Winchester been up too?”

“The bastard went to his brother’s bridal photography session and he ate and ate and now he is eating again his miserable excuse for a flat.” Uriel practically spat the words out. His frustration and annoyance clearly evident. Castiel held back a sigh of relieve but could not help a small smile. He had expected dean to get arrested by Uriel almost immediately but it seemed that Dean knew when to lie low and when to push buttons. Castiel could give him credit for that.

“I interviewed Jennifer Udell and there was something peculiar about her. I can’t put my finger on it just yet,” Castiel said, recalling the events earlier that day.  
Uriel paused. “Well, that’s a lot more interesting that what I have over here,” he said or more like growled into the receiver.

“Your assumption is erroneous. Cross referencing phone numbers are tremendously tedious but I found several non-business related calls made and received by Rosstain to an Asian restaurant,” Castiel replied. He could hear Uriel snorting on the other end.

“Castiel, sometimes you do things that make your life miserable,” Uriel said to his partner.

“Are you still at the Winchester’s?” Castiel asked, trying to keep his tone light and unconcerned.

“Yeah, but I’m heading home. I’m frustrated and tried of babysitting. So, tomorrow, I’m gonna have a word with Raphael about this waste of precious energy and time. Right now, I don’t give a shit any more and I’m heading home. Maybe Winchester will even try something when I’m gone and actually get arrested,” Uriel said angrily. “You should call it a day too.” He added before hanging up.

Castiel stared at the phone. He felt he should check on Dean, if only for professional reasons but he reasoned that it was best that he should wait a while before heading to Dean’s place to avoid Uriel. He cleared his table slowly and allowed thirty minutes to pass before leaving the office. The Pontiac battled steady traffic all the way to Dean’s building and Castiel parked his car across the street like he did earlier that week, got out of his car and leaned against the front door as he looked up at Dean’s window. The curtains were drawn but the lights were on. He hesitated and wondered what made him come here in the first place. He paused in thought, then turned to leave.

“Cas!” A familiar voice called from behind when he was about to reach for the car door, soon followed by the firm grip of a hand turning him around. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked between pants and looked like for some reason, he had been running.

“I came to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself into trouble,” Castiel said as he looked at Dean quizzically. There was no reason for Dean to hurry to meet him and apart from the swearing, Dean seemed very pleased to meet him. It was one of those times where Dean proved to be a puzzlement. Dean laughed and when he got a grip of himself he returned to pat Castiel on the shoulder, which only made Castiel stare at him harder

“With your pet gorilla following me around, I doubt I could manage anything even if I wanted,” Dean said, grinning. “And believe me, I really wanted to.” His green eyes were wide with open glee and as they caught the light of the street lamp, reflected gold green as he looked up.

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that formed. “That is… I apologize, although I disagree with Uriel being associated as a primate, I understand he can be quite threatening at times and I apologize for not giving you fair warning…,” Castiel said this with so much seriousness that Dean’s laughter came bubbling up again.

“Nah, I can handle it. Still, apology accepted, Cas. Let’s get a drink,” Dean said as he tugged Castiel toward the Impala.

“No,” Castiel refused to move. “No, I mean, I would like to drive to a place I know,” Castiel added quickly because Dean’s grin had just slid off into something very near to disappointment, bordering on hurt. “If you do not mind, Dean,” he suggested gently as Dean hesitated for just a second.

Dean shrugged. ‘Okay.” And he seemed to relax immediately after he made up his mind. He followed Castiel to the Pontiac instead. Once inside, Dean noticed that Castiel’s car was free of any personal items except for a few post it’s stuck on the dashboard and the Pontiac’s low rumble was not exactly unpleasant but it could be better if Dean had a chance to tweak the engine a bit. Cas clearly didn’t pay too much attention to his car.

“So…where are we going?” Dean asked slowly when Castiel took a road that he rarely used. Castiel could drive aggressively when he needed to it seemed. Dan watch him cut across another car and didn’t even blink when the man shouted something very unfriendly.

“You’ll know when we get there,” Castiel replied and he chose to remain silent for most of the way. Dean was very close to demanding an answer after 10 minutes. He wasn’t used to not knowing where he was going. It made him feel uncomfortable, like someone else had taken the reins and he was just along for the ride not knowing where the hell he was going or how to stop. Someone else would say, that’s life but right now Dean wasn’t trying to be philosophical. Castiel seem to be pitting all his concentration on the road but Dean decided he couldn’t stand being this quiet even if it wasn’t that sort of uncomfortable silence. So he started telling Cas about his day, about Uriel’s crazy driving techniques, Sam’s and Jess wedding shots and Castiel seemed equally amused and interested but skilfully avoided details about his work.

When Castiel pulled to a stop, Dean was telling him about Jessica and Christopher. “She seems like she’s trying to help, Dean,” Castiel replied as he slipped out from the car and closed the door.

“I know, but it’s not like I can’t find my own date,” Dean said following Castiel in suit. Castiel lead him into the premises of a large classy kind of bar. It was clean, it was neat, it had a lot of glass on display and that made it shiny, it had dim lights and soft piano music playing in the background but most importantly to Castiel, it was quiet. On the contrary, it made Dean feel like he had stepped into another dimension. It wasn’t bad, just… different. Dean was used to noises, loud bars, loud streets. Quiet made him kind of wary, not uncomfortable, but a self awareness, like every word was a shout and every clink of glass sounded ten times louder.

“Oh ho! Finally, someone’s getting busy!” the bartender said as they approached. Castiel almost blushed at that as he sat down.

“No, Gabriel, we’re not together,” Castiel said as the bartender, Gabriel, raised his eyebrows and lowered them so that his eyes narrowed and pressed his lips together when he noticed Dean looking around the bar.

“Yes, lost-boy, if you’re wondering, this is a gay bar,” Gabriel said before continuing. “Why? Never been in one before?”

“Yeah, I’ve been in one,” Dean said turning to the bar, not adding that he was surprised Castiel swung that way. But surprise was quickly buried as Gabriel waggled his eyebrows suggestively. There was something almost maniacal about the bartender with his neat brown hair, shrewd eyes and smile that would send grown men running for the hills. 

“So, what will you have?” the man asked as he poured Castiel a glass of red wine without even waiting for an order.

“Give him a martini,” Castiel said before Dean could answer for himself. Dean turned and gave him a look. “Dean, you should try something either than whiskey, gin and beer,” Castiel said as he sipped the wine. Dean felt he should retort with something smart but was distracted by the red liquid touching the other man’s lips and the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “If the Rosstain was not having an affair, what would he have been doing,” Castiel said, like he was thinking out loud as he looked at the wine glass in his hand melancholically. 

“He was gambling I think,” Dean aid trying to trying to tear his eyes away from Castiel’s neck as the bartender served him his martini with narrowed eyes and a smirked.

“Why would you think that?” Castiel asked as he looked up from his glass to Dean’s face with hid head tilted aside, a gesture that Dean was becoming well familiar with.

“Well, he’s not womanising or manising, not drinking, so that leaves gambling ‘cause he’s definitely disappearing somewhere,” Dean said sipping the martini cautiously. He never got used to these kind of drinks and was more of a out-of-the-bottle person. 

“You withheld information from me,” Castiel said, in such a reprimanding tone, that Dean could not look him in the eye. 

“Back then we weren’t—I didn’t—know you that well… and you didn’t ask,” Dean said and even his own excuse sounded weak to him. Castiel looked at him disapprovingly and shook his head. Dean drank his martini in one whole gulp, opened his mouth, struggled to find the right words to say to Castiel who had chosen to look directly in front, and seemed on the verge of ignoring him. Sometimes, Castiel just wished that the man beside him had more faith in the justice system. He wondered how he could show him that justice of some kind still existed.

“Here comes the devil,” announced Gabriel in a low voice as he removed the martini glass from Dean and poured him a glass of wine instead, same as Castiel’s. “And he’s headin your way,” he added, whispering to Castiel, as he bended down low to wipe the counter in the most dramatic way, smirking at Dean as he did so,

“I know,” Castiel replied and carefully drank his wine.

“Er…how?” Dean asked, willing himself not to give in to his goddamn curiousity to turn behind.

“I can see him through the glass,” Castiel murmured, placing his glass on the counter gently and sure enough it reflected the image behind him.

“Hello, Castiel,” the man said as he leaned against the counter side ways, not seeming to bother too much even if it caused creases on his neatly pressed suit. “And…, “ he added after a moment, attempting to address Castiel’s companion, Dean had half emptied his glass and Gabriel was only too happy to pour more.  
“Nobody,” Gabriel said helpfully, much to Castiel’s surprise and Dean’s annoyance. Seriously, how could such a quite bar employ such a noisy dick of a bartender? Still, Dean tried not to seem to interested as he continued to drink down his wine. The man looked doubtfully from Dean to Gabriel and the bartender flashed him a rather fake smile.

‘So, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while,” he asked turning his attention to Castiel, choosing to ignore the other two men.

“I am well, and I’m sure you are as well, “Castiel said. There was some level of warmness to his voice when he spoke and that bothered Dean. It was just a slight hint of warmness but warmth no less. It made Dean feel like punching some one, preferably Mr. No Creases but he could settle for Crazy Bartender.

“You look good,” the man said, in a way that could not be interpreted as anything less than a come on.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied politely with nothing more in mind than common courtesy but to Dean it sounded dangerously close to something else. The man tapped the counter and seemed to be thinking of something else he could say for a brief moment. Dean got a good look at him; short dirty blonde hair and sharp eyes. He had a relaxed almost lazy air about him like the world turn in his pace and he strolled to the incredibly idle beat of his own fibreglass drum. Castiel was actually giving the man only half his attention and his mind was resting mainly on the case and wondering lightly why Dean was so quiet.

“I’ll suppose I’ll see you and… company around,” he said in another failed attempt to address Dean or in Dean’s opinion, had not cared less to try to address him. The man rested his fingers lightly on Castiel’s hand in a warm gesture and Cas seemed perfectly fine with it. A sudden crazy impulse flooded through Dean as he finished off the quarter of his third glass. As the man turned to leave, Dean grabbed Castiel’s coat and yanked him close to press their lips together. He could see Castiel’s eyes widened, the blue irises a darkish gleam in the dim light. Castiel was trying to moan a protest but Dean took this chance to slide his tongue into his mouth and heard Castiel give a gasping whimper. The kiss was hot and wet and soft. Dean could taste the bittersweet flavours of wine and something else that was indefinable but entirely Cas.

It wasn’t a forceful kiss as he had expected from Dean’s sudden exertion. It was slow and deliberate and Castiel closed his eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the feel of Dean’s mouth on his. He moaned quietly when Dean sucked on his tongue and the world seemed to slow to something rapturous, mixed in the soft press of Dean’s lips and the taste of his mouth. He felt Dean’s hand slip under his coat, a startling warm tingling pressure on his waist and Castiel pulled away, breathless and light headed, lips red and wet. 

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he looked like a man awaken from some stupor, his green eyes wide and face flushed with embarrassment. There was a mortified silence broken only by Gabriel’s loud whistle.

“Whoa, Dean. If I didn’t know better,” he shook his head and chortled. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Dean.” He said with a gleeful glint in his eye.

“I—er—ehm…,” was all Dean could manage. And he looked helplessly at Castiel and made some incoherent gestures before heading for the door, still red in the face, leaving a stunned and equally flustered Castiel behind.

“So,” Gabriel drawled. “You going to keep sitting here…or should you like to pay?”

“Put it on my tab,” Castiel murmured when he had recovered his thoughts and handed Gabriel his credit card. “Excuse me,” he said as he pushed passed Luke, who gave way with a look of amusement and feigned disappointment. 

Gabriel gave Luke an unctuous smile. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

Castiel found Dean standing next to the Pontiac, hands shoved into his pockets, looking uneasily at the street. “Dean,” Castiel said gently turning the other man around by the arm. Den seem to find his shoes very interesting and was pointedly not looking up. Castiel let them stand like that in silence for a moment before attempting to speak. “Dean, I…,”

At that same moment, Dean started to say. “That was….” And they both stopped.

Castiel tried again. “It is…” But was cut short.

“Look, I didn’t mean it. It was impulsive behaviour, madness, call it whatever you want…I’m sorry. It was inappropriate,” Dean was rambling and saying the words so quickly that Castiel could not interrupt him. He had never seen Dean so flustered and although it was very uncharacteristic, Castiel felt a warm sweet glow of appreciation.

“It was inappropriate…,” Castiel said slowly and Dean felt the insides of his stomach twist. “But I don’t really mind,” he added a moment later and when Dean looked up, he could see that Castiel was smiling at him warmly and his blue eyes were soft with emotion that Dean was not willing to identify yet.

Dean shifted. “Ah, okay…so, I guess the guy was…,” he said relieved at the same time dreading Castiel’s answer but Castiel replied before he could finish the question.

“My ex actually. He’s a defence attorney.”

“That’s why you two were… separated,” Dean said carefully.

Castiel could have laugh. Only a few days ago Dean had gone all out to throw as many possible insults at him as possible but now he was afraid of hurting his feelings. It made him smile a little wider. “We have different views,” he replied and Dean nodded sagely, eyebrows drawn together like he wanted to probe deeper then thought better of it.

Instead, he said, “His name isn’t really….”

“No, it’s not Lucifer. His name is Luke… but since he doesn’t know your name, I do not suppose you want to know his.”

Dean huffed a laugh. At least Cas could spring some humour every now and then. The tension eased a little but it was still palpable, mostly because Dean had never been so embarrassed in his life not to mention insanely jealous. He fought the urge to jump Cas in the middle of the street, to claim him, to just show everyone that Cas was, well, his. Okay, hold your horses. Where did that come from? Cas certainly wasn’t Dean’s and well, Dean had no idea why he felt this overwhelming sense of possessiveness. He could still remember the feel of Castiel’s lips on his, the heady scent of wine and the fleeting thought that Cas smelt fresh and earthy like the breeze after the rain. The thought of it made him fell hot and bothered, mostly hot. And he realised that he wanted more, wanted Castiel like he hadn’t want for a long time. But Cas was regarding him with such a sincere, gentle expression and that made him think twice about his less than wholesome thoughts.

“Lets—em, go,” Dean said at last in an odd tone that Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to make off but he supposed that it was best to give Dean some space to think things through and sort out his feelings. So, he settled for a quiet drive back to Dean’s flat, turned on the stereo in hopes that the music would help Dean relax a bit. Unfortunately, the only thing Dean could hear was the blood pounding in his ears as an inner war waged inside him. 

When they came to a complete stop outside Dean’s building, Dean turned off the radio, freed himself of his safety belt and turned to plant a tentative kiss on Castiel’s lips. It was chaste, barely a brush of lips against lips. Dean drew back, eyes searching and tensed, like he was waiting for permission. Castiel looked surprised, lips parted in anticipation and eyes wide and clouded. With his doubts washed away, Dean edged nearer, closing the distance between them, adding more force into the kiss, one hand coming to rest on Castiel’s cheek. Castiel moaned when Dean’s teeth tugged at his lower lip and the hot slide of Castiel’s tongue made Dean groan in approval. Castiel’s mouth was deliciously hot and inviting, filled with the intoxicating taste of wine and pure want. Dean was vaguely aware that Castiel had one hand pressed on the back of his neck, teasing his hair that was too short to grip. 

He moved away from Castiel’s mouth, trailing kisses down his jaw and began to suck hard at Castiel’s neck, his hand’s skimming down from Cas’ messy dark hair, nails digging slightly as he ran down his back. God, he needed to feel bare skin under his hands right now. He nipped at the sweaty over sensitive skin and felt Castiel arch towards him with a whimper, causing his jeans to feel overwhelmingly constricting as heat pulled towards the regions just below his belt. He managed to pull out most of Castiel’s shirt and slipped his hands underneath the light fabric to feel warm bare skin, slightly sticky with sweat. Castiel pulled Dean into another deep kiss, hot tongue sliding into Dean’s mouth with a degree of urgency and fervour like he needed to explore every inch of Dean’s mouth to know him. Dean was so hard it hurt. He fumbled for a moment and found that Castiel was still strapped to his seat. Goddamnit. He pulled away long enough to release Cas and felt the heady rush of blood and the tangle of tongues and need so strong, Dean thought he was going to burst. 

But then, Castiel slowed down to a stop. Dean paused as well and looked into the deep blue of his eyes. They were hesitant.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Dean asked as he continued to press a soft flutter of kisses on Castiel’s collarbone. 

“I—,” Castiel gasped when Dean took some fleshed between his teeth and hummed softly. “I should not be—doing this—with, uh, a—suspect… Dean…,” he moaned when Dean pressed his palm against the bulge of Castiel’s pants, who was just as turned on as Dean was. Dean knew he could make Castiel go all the way if he wanted, he knew he could make Castiel change his mind, because everything that Castiel was projecting right now was want. He briefly entertained the idea of ignoring Cas and taking this all the way but no, because Dean wasn’t that guy. Castiel was obviously right and he had to respect his principles (even if they were a little shaky at the moment). He sighed and pulled away, already missing the warmth of Castiel’s body and his scent.

Castiel’s hair was a mess and he was breathing hard, trying to regain some control. “You are still a suspect, Dean—” What? Come on, he had to be like, number fifty on the suspect list. “And I’m still a cop, in the end.” Castiel finished in a rough voice, so low and raw it sounded painful. Dean felt that they were very close to having a chick flick moment here, some sappy’s lover’s goodbye or something close. 

He ran a hand over his face. “I know and it doesn’t change anything between us.”

Castiel looked at him for a long moment. “Dean, I usually don’t involve myself in a relationship that is fuelled by desire.” Dean understood. He suppose he still needed some time to figure out where they were heading. Castiel wasn’t just anyone, wasn’t just a one night stand or a two week affair and he certainly didn’t want Castiel to be just another transient person in his life. But he still needed to know where they stood and he didn’t want Castiel getting into shit because of him. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” Dean said and gave Castiel’s hand a light squeeze. Before he left the car, Castiel bent forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Dean. 

“For what?” Dean found himself idly studying the contours of Castiel’s face, the soft full mouth and eyelashes so long he could feel them caressing his cheek.

“For understanding,” Castiel replied and he opened his eyes to let them bore into Dean’s with sincere affection, the blue so immense that Dean felt like he could drown in them. If he didn’t get out quick, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He slipped out of the car, smiling with both his and Castiel’s integrity intact.

*

It was a good day. 

Officially, the day had just started but Dean had a feeling it was going to be a good day. He felt breezy and contented, not only because of what he had going on with Castiel the night before but also because he had allowed himself to sleep in late that morning. But the cherry on top of the cake had to be the obvious fact that nobody was tailing him today.

Not Uriel, not Castiel, which felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted of his shoulders because no matter how much he like Cas and enjoyed his company, bottom line, Cas was still a cop. Dean had to be more cautious with how he was doing things, partially because the fact that Castiel was a cop played at the back of his mind all the time, faintly but there and also Dean had to respect Castiel’s methods of handling things, which were very law abiding. Right now, he could break all the rules without hurting anyone’s feelings. 

His mood was even good enough to allow him to pull through New York traffic without cursing or thumping his horn loud enough to burst someone’s eardrum. He made his way through the crawling traffic to Bowery and gradually took a route that would lead him to Canal Street. The busy, organised chaos slowly gave way to real commotion. Signboards written in Chinese, people jostling their way through crowds, vendors packing the side of streets with assorted goods, gradual increase in Asians, shouting, yelling, all the while still keeping the unrelenting New York traffic.

Even Dean’s good mood could not persists but hell, he tried. And when he finally burst out from Canal Street, it was like being born again (which is not as weird as it sounds). He almost felt like he had been holding his breath all this time and now finally, he could take some oxygen in. That’s Chinatown for you. 

At Baxter Street, he made a turning into a smaller, quieter street, stopped his car ant the side of the road and made his way to a Chinese restaurant with a bad paint job and brightly coloured signboard with faded Chinese writing, a replica of so many other old shops in the more unfamiliar parts of Chinatown.

Dean entered the shop. It never seem to have much business with only a few tables filled with even fewer people, most not eating. They eyed him as he entered, wary and calculating. He felt like he was stepping into foreign territory and had to remind himself this was still New York. A waitress came up to him and offered to lead him to be seated but Dean waved her off. She paused and nodded understandingly. 

Dean had been here before when he was following Paul Follett, he’d just never entered the back room of the restaurant. The obvious reason was that he didn’t want to be seen by Mr.Follett, the other was since he was hired to investigate an affair no a gambling habit. This really wasn’t any of his business. But since Castiel asked about it last night, it got the wheels in Dean’s head turning. It was also something Johnny said when Castiel interrogated him, that the guy who hired him gave him money and a photo of the jewellery he was to steal. Paul Follett probably didn’t kill his wife but there was some connection there. 

As he approached the slightly ajar door, Dean could here a familiar voice from the inside. “Hell, no,” he muttered in disbelieve as he pushed the door open. There were only three tables and around one sat three people, a blonde lady, who stood up upon recognising him, a man with wavy dark hair, who looked intently at his cards, ignoring Dean’s intrusion and opposite him was a man in a tan trench coat, who Dean had heavily made out with in the car yesterday night.

Castiel glanced up at Dean with a curious look and his eyes widen slightly. “Dean,” Castiel said, head tilting to a side with a questioning look. Dean stared at him and then at the man opposite, his eyes lingered on the deck cards in their hands (clearly it was a poker game) and came to rest on the chips that lay between them. He had thought that Castiel was very law abiding but it seems that was a delusion, a mental image existing only in Dean’s head. A thousand questions fired into his mind simultaneously and he spent more than a minute trying to grasp at one.

“You’re gambling in a Chinese restaurant,” Dean said to the man.

“I know. I’ve a joint ownership here.”

“You’re not Chinese,” he said accusingly and immediately felt stupid.

The man seemed to share Dean’s opinion. “None of us in this room are Chinese in case you haven’t noticed.” He smiled. “I didn’t know this was an issue before, Dean.” Patrick was his name, if Dean remembered correctly. A sneaky son of a bitch. The blonde woman took a hesitant step forward but Patrick rested a hand on top of hers. “It’s okay, Lia. I know him.” He smiled at Dean. “Well, Dean, if you want to gamble, you’ll just have to come back later.” He threw another four pieces of chips into the centre pile on the table.

“I know him. Let him stay,” Castiel said slowly before shifting his glance from Dean to his cards, following his opponent’s gesture by tossing a hand full of chips into the pile. Patrick raised his eyebrows, smiling in amusement while Castiel glared back at him passively. Dean felt awkward, knowing that, after all, Castiel and him did very nearly get it on in the car and the image of Castiel hot and rubbing against him made… okay, he so needed a time out. Stupid brain. He drew a chair, pushed all the memories of Cas to the back of his head and sat down be side Castiel, leaning back so he could have a clear view of Castiel’s hand. The detective looked like he was playing blind, putting down bets that Dean thought were unnecessary. Patrick paused and pursed his lips then he smiled languidly as he placed his fifth card on the table; 4 of Clubs, King of Spades, 4 of Hearts, 8 of Spades and a 7 of Clubs. He flipped his other two cards that were faced down, revealing an Ace of Spades and a 9 of Spades.

Ace-high flush. Damn the guy was good. Dean let out a small breath and wondered if Castiel could top that. From all that confident betting, he silently prayed he could. Castiel’s brow furrowed and he looked contemplatively at his opponent’s hand and began to flip open his cards one by one. Dean nearly stopped breathing as he watched Castiel’s unhurried progress. King of Hearts, 4 of Clubs, another two kings… he fought the urge to lean forward and took satisfaction to see that Patrick was tapping his finger on the table a little impatiently. Castiel turned the last card upwards. It was a 4 of Spades.

“Three Kings, two fours,” Dean said smugly for Castiel.

Patrick actually looked surprised. “Full house,” he noted with a hint of respect. Then he laughed. “Well, it’s just not my day, is it?’ He smiled at Castiel.

“I suppose it isn’t,’ Castiel answered dead panned. Patrick blinked a few times, obviously considering which planet Castiel originated from and made up his mind it was not worth the brain power. He rose and walked towards his wife. He smiled apologetically at her as he took her hand and slipped of a beautiful silver ring with a large finely cut emerald jewel set in it. Finely cut but much too big to look like someone had spend all his savings now and in the after life to pay for it. . Simply put, it didn’t look too expensive although it would probably take Dean like forever to buy one. Castiel rose to take it from Patrick. 

“I’m sorry I have to confiscate this from you,” he said to the woman, bagging the ring carefully.

She shrugged and tossed he honey coloured hair back. “It’s okay. It’s pretty but I always thought that it was a little big for me,” she said with a rueful smile. Dean wondered how did a nice girl like that, all soft curves and gentle personality, ended up marrying an underhand, furtive, low person like Patrick. He was way too smooth and reminded Dean of a weasel.

“Thank you,” Castiel said before turning to leave. 

“Whoa, hey— ,” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s arm. “You’re just gonna ditch all your winnings?” 

Castiel eyed the pile of chips on the table and turned to Dean. “The bets were representational of the ring. I have what I wanted. I don’t need money.”

“Er… okay,” Dean hesitated and stared longingly at the pile. A lot of cash could be exchanged with those chips. He sighed and followed Castiel who was already out the door. 

“Dean!”

Dean turned back to Patrick who was collecting the chips. “Not up for a game, then?” Patrick asked. There was challenge in his voice and Dean didn’t like it. He did however consider the suggestion very slightly.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice came from the open door and he could almost feel Castiel’s eyes boring into the back of his head. Well, that settled his mind pretty quick. 

“Not this time, he-witch,” he said and walked out with Castiel. Outside the restaurant, Castiel stopped and turned to face him.

“What are you doing here?” This part of Chinatown was usually empty but still some passer-bys threw them suspicious looks. Dean ignored them.

“Funny,” he replied. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Castiel let out a long sigh and didn’t reply. “Okay… then why isn’t anyone following me?”

“Uriel put in a word. It seems that they have decided you aren’t worth all the trouble,” Castiel sounded dubious like he did think Dean was troublesome. Then he added, “Dean, please be careful. Keep your head down and lie low. They would arrest you at the first chance they get.” He frowned at Dean’s wide maniacal grin. “This is a large investigation. This isn’t a game Dean. Right now they are following leads but when things get desperate, you will be a plausible suspect again.”

“Okay, I get it… you don’t need to get pissed… and who’s to say things will get desperate, huh? I mean there’s you,” Dean said, unable to stop himself from smiling at the thought that he was allowed to be a grown up again. No more adult supervision. Castiel ran a hand through his already messy hair, clearly frustrated. There was a brief pause and Dean said, “Wait, you said ‘they’ when you talk about your cop buddies…. If they are ‘they’ does that make us ‘we’?” He let the grin grow wider. Castiel rolled his eyes but allowed a small smile to play upon his lips. 

“I’m confused at what you are getting at.”

Dean snorted. “Really?”

“Dean… I’m working.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dean asked. Castiel pulled himself together. It was easy to lose himself in the warm infectious smile of Dean’s and get side tracked from the actual question.

“Why are you here?” he asked at last.

Dean feigned surprise like the answer to that question was painfully obvious. He cleared his throat and said, “Looking for you.” He took a step closer to Castiel and smiled cheerfully. Castiel wondered how many times Dean’s charm had worked on someone else. Dean was obviously being impish but Castiel couldn’t stop the warm flow of fondness that spread through him.

“Dean,” he said seriously. “Explain truthfully please.” Common sense told him that they were in the middle of a street and two men standing inches away from each other wasn’t exactly a sight that occurred frequently but he didn’t want to back down, couldn’t back away actually. He let his gaze linger on Dean’s mouth and then bore into the hazel green eyes which did not blink. 

Dean stood his ground. “I came to look a little deeper into Mr. Follett’s gambling, see if it’s got anything to do with the murder.”

Castiel shuffled nearer. “And?” he said voice low enough to kill all of Dean’s brain cells. Castiel was so close he could feel his warm breath playing on his lips, close enough for Dean to lean forward and kiss him if he wanted to. It was almost a challenge. Dean didn’t take the bait.

“And I found you instead,” he replied quickly. “Okay, your turn, Cas.”

Castiel stood back and seemed satisfied. Two could play this game of beating round the bush. “The ring was Jezebel Follett’s. One of the jewellery that Johnny stole,” Castiel said. Dean shrugged.

“So? Mr. Follett gambles here. He steals his wife jewellery to pay of his debts. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“No…. It’s a motive,” Castiel said. He frowned and looked distracted. The street had grown uneasily quiet. It was quiet before but now even the sounds of the city seemed dimmed and distant. “I have to go, Dean,” Castiel said turning away and glancing down the street warily. Dean let him walk pass and felt the soft brush of Castiel’s fingers against his, oddly gentle and affectionate. Dean watched him until the Pontiac turned out of sight. He sighed and squinted at the sun, a bright beacon in this dull street. If it wasn’t for that tiny gesture, he was afraid Castiel probably regretted what they did last night but…. He got into the Impala, eyes lingering on the back of his hand that rested on the wheel, wondering.

*

Paul Follet’s nose twitched in irritation when his secretary announced that detective Castiel wanted to see him… again. As usual, he had no choice but to let the said detective in. “Send him in,” he said coolly through the phone, running an absent hand over his hair and straightening his tie. He reached into the cabinet nearby to pull out another decanter of scotch, pouring a generous amount into two glasses. He always poured a glass for the detective even though he always ended up drinking both of them. It didn’t matter because every time he met Castiel, he felt he needed double the amount to keep his nerves in check. 

Castiel walked into the room and sat himself down, looked straight at Paul in a way that made him uneasy but today the detective’s stance was more intense than usual making him feel sweaty as he tried not to shift uncomfortably in his leather chair.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Jezebel Follet wanted a divorce?” Castiel asked after a long bout of silence. Paul Follet swallowed and shifted some more.

“Jezebel was always saying things like that… she never really means it. Just one of those moments, you understand, but then she’d regret ever mentioning it and things will be cool for a while until…,” Paul shrugged. He willed himself not to break eye contact while rolling his shoulders in that relaxed shrug he usually did. It proved difficult but he wasn’t going to yield in this staring contest.

“Then what about a boy called Johnny? Do you know anyone by that name?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know him, I’m afraid.”

“Fair enough,” Castiel said quietly and he made everything Paul said sound like an outright lie with just two words. The detective leaned forward slightly and pushed a photograph towards Paul. “Recognise this then?” he said as he tapped his finger on the photograph on an emerald ring. Paul Follet stared at it for a long moment his face curiously blank.

“That…,” the realisation creeping into his features. “That was stolen,” he said. When he leaned back, the hand gripping the glass tightened imperceptibly.

“Yes, it was,” Castiel said, eyes darkening a little.

“What is the meaning of this? If you have a crime that you would like to convict me of, show me proper evidence. Don’t throw implications, detective!” he drew in a deep breath. “Now, I must ask you to leave my office.” To anyone eyes, Paul Follet sounded formidable and calm. Unfortunately, he was talking to Castiel which in his brain ‘formidable’ hardly compute. Castiel stared at the man, unmoving.

Finally he said, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Follet,” and rose from the seat. Paul Follet watched the detective slip out the door. He stared at the detective’s glass of scotch, still untouched. He drank it and decided that certain measures were called for.

*

Castiel had left Follett’s office feeling slightly annoyed. He had no feelings for Mr. Follet, he neither like nor disliked him but now he couldn’t stand being near the man without some semblance of disgust. Paul Follet was an unloving husband, a hypocrite and a very suspicious man. If he could pay Johnny to steal from his own wife, Castiel saw a likely possibility that he might just pay someone to do Jezebel Follet in. But then, there was Jennifer Udell, another plausible suspect who seemed to be a good friend of Jezebel’s but there was something about her he just couldn’t put his finger on… yet. Castiel sat down at his desk, drew out a black notebook, opened it and started writing down events in chronology. He drew a profile on Paul Follett and sat there staring, mouth in a tight line.

Paul Follett, entrepreneur aspiring politician, 42 years old, in debt, gambler, owner of Rosstain Corp, biggest investor and shareholder David Rosstain, his wife’s father… Mr. Follett, he noted paid of gambling debts of US$75 000 with one of Jezebel’s jewellery but what about the rest he presumably had? What did he do with it? There was also the risk that if Paul Follett was acquitted he would not only be tarnishing his reputation but losing his biggest whale. It was just… strange. 

The other jewellery probably amounted to a few hundred thousand. Then there was the murder weapon, still missing and every alibi seemed perfectly real. And there was Jennifer Udell. From what Uriel investigated, she was present at the launching of the hotel but left shortly only to return later during the dinner party. If say, Udell killed Mrs. Follett, what was her motive? She had nothing to gain.

“Castiel,” Uriel said, scattering his thoughts. Castiel looked up at his partner, who was looking grimly down at his. “Raphael… wants a word with you,” he said in a tone that told Castiel he was in for something unpleasant. Castiel nodded and watched Uriel walk out to more or les escort him to Raphael office. His partner wore a look of resignation; one that Castiel thought would be better suited on his own features. He pocketed the book and followed quietly. He could see through he blinds that the lieutenant was looking dark, serious and unhappy, his fingertips pressed together to form a steeple. 

“Sit, detective,” Raphael motioned to a chair when Castiel entered, each step slow and careful, lowering himself into the chair that made the slightest creak against his weight and turned to face the lieutenant. They let the silence fill their conversation, both waiting for the other to speak, waiting for the other to move, the lion watching the gazelle, the gazelle waiting to see if the lion would strike and the line blurred for an instant to which one of them was the gazelle and which was the lion.

Raphael spoke and the swirling of Castiel’s thoughts steadied and he snapped back to attention, guilty for a moment for challenging his superior’s gaze. “You…,” Raphael said softly. “Have been disappointing.” Castiel felt like he had been physically hit. “I warned you, Castiel. Your liaison with him was going to cost you. I fucking warned you!” He’s almost shouting. Castiel sat back, eyes wide that Dean could be brought up now. How on earth did Raphael know? Unless… he thought, his gaze rested briefly on Uriel’s back who was drinking from a water cooler.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Detective!” You were going to be a sergeant and you threw it all out of the fucking window!” He sounded more disappointed than angry. “Explain yourself,” He said at last, one hand resting on the table. Castiel didn’t answer. “What do you have to say for yourself?!” Raphael snapped and slammed his hand so hard that a pencil fell out of its holder and the papers on the desk shifted. Castiel glanced out the window the at Raphael’s hand and up to his lieutenant’s face, eyes bright.

“I have nothing to say,” Castiel replied slowly, each word ringing through the room and coming to a dead silence. He finally tore his eyes away and stared at his hands.

“Then I’ll have to ask you to hand over your gun. Your suspended, Castiel until further notice.” Raphael sounded tired. He looked at Castiel, eyes hard. He had been hoping Castiel would deny it, lie if he had too, even if they both knew it, all he had to say was no, sir. I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. But Castiel hadn’t, wouldn’t do that.

Castiel placed the Glock on the table and rose to leave.

“Castiel, your—.”

The gleaming golden badge clunked on to table and Castiel didn’t even turn around, just swept out of the room in a stride.

Castiel walked out quickly, eyes foused on the doors ahead. His head hurt, his chest hurt and for the first time in his life he felt capable of something violent. He needed out, out of the damn building, out of the stares that fellow officers threw him, confused, sympathetic, satisfied. Everything melted in to a dim sound, white noise but the thump of his shoes on the floor. The doors, he needed to get out now!

There was a strong grip on his arm. Castiel stared at the hand holding him back. “Let go, Uriel,” he said, trying to keep the dangerous bite from his voice. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” his partner said making Castiel’s gut clench. He almost believed it.

“Well, Uriel… you’d make a better sergeant than me.’ He wrenched his arm free and walked off. Outside, he stood, feeling calmer, getting his head together. The rage had disappeared as suddenly as it came and now all Castiel felt was betrayal, broken and so lost. He stood with his hands in his pocket and let people push pass him, breathing slowly. He trusted Uriel. They had been partners for a time while still in Patrol and got the rare chance to team up again. It was the betrayal that cut the deepest, not the suspension or the lost of his badge.

A passer by collided into him while talking into a phone, mumbling an apology Castiel did not hear. He realised he couldn’t stand here but he had no idea where else to go. He didn’t quite feel like going home because he had always thought the police building as his home, spent so much time there, slept there during cases and the idea of going home to an empty apartment was…. He didn’t know anyone outside work, except Dean but he didn’t want to see Dean right now. He felt he needed to be alone but….

There was no solution to a problem that you couldn’t even name. So, Castiel walked. Aimlessly, for what must have been hours. He trudge through the city, pass the tall glass buildings that cast long shadows on the streets, pass shop after shop, not really looking where he was going nor really caring. He heard his phone ring, sharp and jarring, seem to ring on endlessly until Castiel at last checked to see who it was. ‘Dean’ flashed on the screen and Castiel hung up without answering. It wasn’t Dean’s fault but he’d never felt so bitter in his life and he didn’t know what he might say to Dean in this state of mind.

A hand stuck out in front of him, holding a bunch of flowers. Castiel hit right into it, stopped and turned to the owner’s face, the apology already on his lips. It was an old lady, smiling kindly at him. 

“Take some,” she said as she pressed in into his hands. “You look like you could use some,” she said. Castiel tried to pay her but she refused. Only when Castiel said he wouldn’t accept the flowers until he paid did she relent. He gazed at the flowers, realising that he was drained, feeling so tired he could sleep on his feet. The sun was a low crescent in the pink sky. He looked down at the small flowers in his hand and at the old lady a few feet behind him. It was a small gesture. That there was some beauty still left in the world, small but a gesture none the less. He realised it was awful being alone and he was so foolish to punish himself for something he did not regret doing. He had been so caught up in Raphael’s accusation and Uriel that he had forgotten that they weren’t worth all his trouble and misery, especially not Uriel.

He began his journey home. He had no idea what he was going to do but there were always other… options. He would think of something. He climbed up to the third floor of his residential building instead of taking the lift, feeling much calmer. He would take a long shower and give Dean a call. It would be nice to hear his voice. He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt for his keys.

“Cas.” A relieved voice said. Castiel looked up and saw Dean who was straightening from leaning against his door, face grim and eyes burning to brightly. How did he get here? Castiel wondered but it was merely a passing thought, he was too weary to dwell on it. Dean strode up to him and pulled him into a tight squeeze as Castiel stood there, hands limp at his side in surprise. “Dude,” Dean said, pulling away and studying Castiel carefully. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I don’t know.” He hated that his voice was cracking. He pressed his face against Dean’s shoulder, breathing deeply, flowers still tight in one hand.

“Okay… okay, let’s go inside.” Dean said, before placing a tentative kiss on Castiel’s cheek. He took Castiel’s keys an unlocked the apartment, pulling Castiel after him, staying close by in case Castiel fell over because frankly, Dean thought Cas looked like shit. Castiel’s tie was more askew than usual, coat so rumpled it looked like it was gonna slip off his shoulders and surrender to the floor. Something happened but Dean pushed away his usual curiosity and concentrated on trying to make Cas feel better and for once, not in a sexual way. He watched as Castiel shrugged of the trench coat, hanging it on a hanger and placing the flowers absently on the table. He ran a hand through his hair looking lost in his own house.

“Dean, I…,” Castiel began, hands waving in a meaningless gesture, trying to explain something he didn’t really want to.

Dean stopped him. “Look, Cas, it’s okay. Whatever it is can wait for later. Now go get yourself cleaned up.”

Castiel gave him a small exasperate grateful smile that was almost painful to see. He leaned forward like he was really going to fall and Dean arms came up to catch him… but Castiel just pressed his cheek against Dean’s, cool from the outside air and he seemed to shiver as he savoured Dean’s warmth. “Thank you.” It was barely a whisper and then Castiel was pass him, heading to his room. Dean sighed. H wasn’t use to seeing Cas so… unguarded would be a more dignified way to put it.

He took of his jacket, draped it over a dining chair before popping his head into the fridge. He was pretty sure Castiel hadn’t had anything to eat since… God knew, since when. Castiel didn’t own much variety of food. There was a loaf of bread, some butter, milk, some apples, a slice of leftover cake and a few bottles of mineral water. Dean pulled out the bread, butter and milk and tuned his attention to the cabinets, praying for something edible. Yes, there was canned soup and corn beef, nothing much but it’ll have to do. 

 

Dean was laying the table when Castiel emerged from his room, wearing a white cotton shirt and grey drawstring pants. He glanced at the flowers Dean had placed into a large mug, smiling a little and then sniffing appreciatively at the smell of toast, soup and meat.

“You’re cooking dinner.” Castiel observed. Dean grinned when he heard the awe in Castiel’s voice.

“Cooked, Cas. I cooked dinner. Figured you could use some,” he replied as he filled their plates. He placed one in front of Castiel, consisting of buttered toast and corn beef followed by a bowl of tomato soup. Castiel gave every item a once over. “It’s not much but you didn’t have much,” Dean pointed out. He noticed Cas was eyeing the tomato soup with resignation. “Not a fan of tomato soup?”

“No,” Castiel replied, still staring at the soup. “Not this brand at least.”

“Then why did you buy it?” Dean asked through a mouthful of bread.

“A mistake,” Castiel said, biting into his toast.

“Try it,” Dean challenged. “Seriously.” Castiel hesitated just a moment, then took a spoonful, eyes widening slightly before squinting into the bowl. “It was a little thin, so I added milk and butter.” He tried not to sound smug, he really did try.

“You cook a lot, Dean?” Castiel asked between mouthfuls. Dean was looking at a yellow water stain that looked like a map of India. The kitchen was old. He suspected the furniture was second hand or third, possibly a sixth. Apart from the bed and couch, everything else was old but at least they were usable.

He turned to Castiel. “I use too… when Sammy was little. Dad wasn’t around a whole lot after mom died… but you already know that.” He smiled ruefully. “But hey, I can’t even touch the God-like quality of my brother’s girlfriend. Jessica makes this awesome rib-eye steak… you should come over some time.” The invitation was good as any and Castiel had to smile. “How bout you?” Dean asked. “You cook?”

“I’m, regrettably, not very good at it.” Castiel said and the conversation fell into comfortable silence. Dean badly wanted to ask Cas what the heck happened but decided to wait. When they had finish, Castiel rose and placed the dishes in the sink, washing slowly.

“I turned in my badge today.” Cas said quietly, placing the dishes back while Dean wiped his hands.

“Oh…,” Dean said, feeling retarded. Castiel just told him he lost his badge and all he could reply was a monosyllable. He was still drying his hands even though they were already dry.

“Uriel told them about… us.” The pause made Dean feel worst, since he was the one that put the ‘us’ in motion in the first place. Typical of Dean to fuck up something good for someone. He drew a deep breath, wondering what to say.

“Look, Cas—.”

“I don’t regret it.” Castiel said, hands resting on the counter, gazing down at the pile of dishes. “I don’t regret falling for you.” He turned to look up at Dean, leaning against the counter, eyes fierce and bright. Dean placed the cloth down and muttered a soft ‘huh’. It was so easy to cover the few steps between them, slide against Castiel and kiss him, soft brush of lips, teasing a little with his tongue until he heard Castiel’s small intake of breath and lips parted, soft press of tongue against his. They continued kissing, light press of lips, nothing heavy until Castiel pulled away, eyes wide. 

“Dean, will you stay?” Castiel asked, fingers clenched it Dean’s shirt. “Just… stay.” Dean pulled Castiel close, frowning a little. Castiel didn’t strike him as someone who needed comfort sex and well, cuddling just wasn’t something Dean was used to. Castiel apparently thought Dean was worth more than his job. The least Dean could do was hold him through it.

* * * 

Dean awoke with the sunlight warm on his face, in an unfamiliar bedroom. He groaned softly, glared at the clock which told him it was 9 a.m. He looked to his side and saw that it was empty and the mattress wasn’t even warm. He bolted up, feeling panic, saw Cas sitting on a chair, looking absently out the window, hair rumpled, shoulders drawn but still there. 

“Jesus, Cas, when did you get up?” Dean asked, rubbing his hand over his eyes wearily.

“Seven.” Castiel continued to stare out the window at precisely nothing, his back towards Dean. Dean stretched and got out of bed, taking a few measured steps towards Castiel.

“You alright?”

“I’m better,” Castiel replied, turning around to face Dean with a small smile on his face. Then, he got up and moved towards Dean and leaned in to kiss him, making Dean stumble backwards to avoid him. Castiel paused.

“I’m not that… tasty in the mornings,” Dean said, pressing a hand to Castiel’s chest. Castiel tilted his head, and stepped forward, leaning in again and pressed his lips against Dean’s, letting the tip of his tongue trace the seam of Dean’s lips very slightly. Dean couldn’t help the moaned, allowing Castiel’s tongue in as they pressed their bodies together. Dean pulled away.

“Should I…?” Dean asked, thinking stupid things like morning breath and… ugh.

“Hmm… yes, I suppose,” Castiel said, running his tongue over his bottom lip like he didn’t mind tasting Dean at all. “Tooth brushes and towels are in the cabinet under the sink and you can help yourself to any of my clothes. They should fit,” Castiel said before Dean entered the bathroom. Dean found the toiletries but he wasn’t so sure about the clothes.

“Can I ask you something, Dean?” Castiel’s voice called out as Dean showered.

“Shoot,” Dean said as he soaped himself, willing his dick not to comply with kinkier fantasies involving Cas’ voice and the shower.

There was a brief hesitation from Castiel before he said, “Why do you think Uriel did what he did?’

“Obviously the guy’s not as nice as you thought he was,” Dean replied. Very obviously, he might add. He rinsed himself off and noticed that Castiel’s shampoo smelled kind of fruity.

“Uriel… isn’t bad. He could hear the perplexed consternation in Castiel’s voice and could only imagine the look on his face right now.

“Not everything is black and white, angel,” Dean said, merging from the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap himself with.

“Funny… that’s the same thing he told me.” Castiel looked thoughtful, leaning against the doorframe, watching Dean brush his teeth. “I think I’m going to continue this.”

“Hunh?” Dean gurgled and rinsed. “Continue what?” Because there was only two things that needed continuation here and he didn’t think either of them was what Castiel had in mind.

“The investigation.” Castiel shifted to let Dean pass. Dean chuckled softly as he placed his hands on Castiel’s oak dresser, turning back to wink at him.

“Well, sweetheart, I’d never thought you’d come around,” he said, grinning. He rummaged through the dresser and realised that Castiel was fond of loose baggy shirts. “Frankly, I think Follett had something to do with your suspension more than Uriel.” Dean pulled on a brown shirt. “Uriel just provided a nice excuse….” Pants were a little trickier but he finally found a pair that would fit. When he looked up, he realised why Castiel had fallen so quiet, met blue eyes blown wide, staring at him with something almost close to hunger, lips parted slightly and Dean felt the gaze shoot right to his cock.

“Dean….” 

And like that, Dean covered the space between them, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s slender waist, pulling their lips together, sliding his tongue in to trace the roof of Castiel’s mouth. God, he almost missed the taste and Castiel was moaning low and deep against him, warm hands sliding to his face, fingers through his hair with a sense of urgency that shouldn’t be there but Dean can’t care. He can barely remember the last time he kissed Castiel and right now, he was burning with a need he didn’t realised was coiled so tight in check. Castiel was sucking on his tongue, making slow grinding movements against him, teeth clacking against his like he was trying to bury himself in Dean. Slow long moans, drawn out in a way that made Dean shudder. 

He managed to push Castiel against the nearest wall, feeling Castiel’s shirt ride up and warm smooth skin and lean muscle flexing to be touched. Castiel felt sohot, like he was burning or maybe it was Dean and it didn’t matter because Castiel was grinding against him, making small animalistic noises that made Dean so hard. He pulled back to kiss Castiel’s jaw, feeling rough stubble under his tongue, not like a woman at all and so much hotter. Castiel made a noise that could have been a whimper and Dean sucked hard on his neck, feeling the body beneath him arched. Castiel’s nails were digging into his back and the pain felt good somehow, heightened by the sense of pleasure rushing like adrenaline through his veins.

“Dean…,” Castiel said, voice raw with need and sounded like he was begging. And Dean really needed to fuck Castiel now.

Somewhere in the room the phone started ringing with a loud Led Zeppelin song..

Dean ignored it, continued to thrust a tongue into Castiel’s ear hearing him choke something garbled. “De—an… Dean, you should… ah… um… get that.” 

“Emhmm…” Drags Castiel’s earlobe with his teeth and sucked on it. Castiel writhed against him, hard cock pressed against his hip and Dean really didn’t give a damn about the fucking phone.

Then, Castiel was pushing him away gently. “Dean,” and his mouth is wet and bruised and breath against Dean’s cheek hot enough to make him groan. Why did Castiel cared about some stupid call when they obviously needed to deal with really important issues right now? “You should really answer that,” he said calmly like he wasn’t standing there with a hard on practically begging Dean to fuck him with his eyes.

This was beyond frustrating. He stepped away trying to ease the tightness in his pants and went in search for the phone which he knew he left in his jeans pocket somewhere in the bathroom.

It was Sam. “Yes?” Dean growled.

“Due! Where are you haven’t seen you all day yesterday!” Sam yelled back, partly because he was worried and partly because he was irritated that his well meant gesture was totally disregarded.

“I’m with Cas,” Dean said, keeping his voice even when Castiel popped his head into the bathroom looking perfectly normal, like they hadn’t been trying to suck each other faces off ten seconds ago.

“Cas? Again?” Sam said bewildered and Dean rolled his eyes even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it.

“What do you want, Sammy?” Dean asked, sighing and he was ager to get this over with. Maybe if he got back quick enough, Castiel would still be open to the idea of getting laid.

“Well… okay, please tell me you remember.”

Dean probably short circuited a few cells back there but he really didn’t remember forgetting anything. “Remember what?”

“Oh God, you forgot…,” said Sam because Sam never ever went to the point unless he was pissed. “You have a fitting this evening. Can you like try to retain that in your head? And I swear, you and that detective are getting way to close… I mean, what are you two—.”

“I’ll remember, Sammy. Bye.” He hung up vehemently. Annoying phone calls from little brothers tend to kill one’s libido and when he came out, Castiel had obviously moved on to more practical if less enjoyable things. He was sitting on the bed, flipping through a small black book.

“Who was it?” he asked without looking up. Dean could sense the slight shift of tension in the room.  
“Sam. He wanted o know where I am,” Dean said slowly, pocketing the phone as he approached Castiel.

“Oh.” Castiel looked up, blue eyes softening, visibly relaxing and was that a flash of guilt…? Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Okay… so what do you want to do now?” Dean asked as he leaned against Castiel’s dresser.

“I think we should exchange information,” Castiel said, flipping thoughtfully through his book. Dean noticed highlights and little Post-It’s stuck to the pages, diagrams, list of name. Meticulous.

“Wait a minute, Cas.” Dean held up a hand to stop Castiel as is Castiel was going to physically charge into him. “This whole without breakfast thing might be your thing but I can’t function on empty. So I say, let’s get some food then we’ll talk.” Castiel gave him a long hard stare, which was in Castiel language a look of incredulity. Finally, he shrugged and nodded.

*

Castiel flipped through a folder that Dean had handed to him in the car. He scanned the pages, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It contained a list of Follett’s activities, who he met, his whereabouts on specific dates, photographs; a compilation of evidence to satisfy the paranoia of Jezebel Follett.

“Useful?” Dean asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Not particularly,” Castiel said sighing. He looked up with a frown when he saw Dean shaking more salt into his eggs. “You shouldn’t be having too much salt in your diet.” The tone reminded Dean of a stern teacher and already his mind was filling with kinky teacher fantasies… and Dean should stop thinking and do more eating.

“God, you sound like Sam,” Dean said but he put down the salt shaker anyway. Castiel turned back to the folder, looking for anything he missed. “You gonna eat that?” Dean asked, indicating to the soggy pancakes on Castiel’s plate, bathing in syrup and butter.

“I will, Dean, in good time.” Castiel actually sounded miffed; he flicked through the folder looking for something unusual until he came to a picture of Paul and Jezebel Follett together during their happier days. “This,” he said pointing to a gold necklace around Jezebel’s neck. “Is this hers?”

“Yeah, wears it all the time,” Dean replied as he assaulted some bacons.

“Udell had one just like it,” he said slowly, turning the picture for a better inspection. “we never found it on Follett’s body.” He recalled seeing the necklace in Jennifer Udell’s picture bur she herself wasn’t wearing it at that time. Same necklace or just identical?

“Well, “ Dean shrugged, lifting a steaming mug. “She was definitely wearing it when she kissed me that night.” He sipped the coffee. “Whoever killed her could have taken it.”

“Yes… it’s a high probability. Paul Follet fits the suspect but the necklace… doesn’t look like it’s worth much,” Castiel replied thoughtfully, finally cutting in to his pancake.

“Okay, then we’ll just have to find the murder weapon or the necklace… on Follett.”

Castiel sighed. “Dean, I don’t have a badge anymore.” He sounded frustrated. The pancake received a vicious jab.

“Well, see Cas, that’s where you’re wrong. “ Dean winked. “Welcome to the world of private investigation.”

*

“Dean are you sure you want to do this?” Castiel asked, trying not to sound uncertain as he watch Dean straighten his tech support outfit. Five minutes earlier they had observed Paul Follett exiting the building and Dean was all ready to go.

“Relax, Cas. It will be fine.” Dean pulled on the customary blue grey hat and picked up the briefcase from Castiel’s lap that contained nothing more than random pieces of paper and plastic bags in case he needed to bag anything. He winked at castiel and slid out of the Impala. Castiel watched Dean warily as he crossed the road and entered the multi storied building.

Dean walked right up to the receptionist, flashed on his most charming smile. “Excuse me?” 

She looked up instantly. “Yes? How may I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Sam Molten, here to fix Mr. Follett’s computer,” Dean told her cheerfully.

“Oh…? Really? I wasn’t informed about it….” Dean saw her confusion and pasted on his reassuring face.

“Hey, that’s okay. I get this all the time,” Dean leaned against the counter, sighing and then turning to catch her eyes. “But I’m kinda busy… I don’t want trouble, y’know.” She blushed (not that Dean could really tell under all the rouge ahe was wearing) and her eyes flitted away from his for a moment.

“But Mr. Follett isn’t here….”

“That’s fine. I’ll just do what I do and if there’s anything serious I’ll wait until he get’s back.” He waited until the receptionist nodded, then bolted off with a thanks and a million dollar smile. In the elevator, Dean pulled out a cell phone and dialled Follett’s office.

“Hello, Rosstain Corp, who is this?” Follett’s secretary, Adrianna Langley answered in her cool crisp voice.

Dean lowered his voice. “Hello? Ms. Langley? The manager of purchasing needs to see Mr. Follett now! There’s been a complication with the purchasing orders—.”

“Mr. Follett is out.”

“Oh shit!” Dean hissed into the phone. “It’s really bad, one of our clients are getting really mad… we need someone down here immediately.”

Langley didn’t cursed and Dean waited a few heart stopping moments before she said, “Alright… I’m heading over… who is th—.”

“Thanks a lot.” Dean hung up before she could finish. He got off the elevator two floors before Follett’s office and made sure no one was watching him as he made way for the stairs. He opened the doors to find the wide expanse of the corridors blissfully empty. Adrianna Langley wasn’t at her desk and there wasn’t anyone about. Bad security. Very bad.

Dean pushed open the doors and entered the sleek polished office of Paul Follett. Dean sat the briefcase down on the dark marble table before moving to the computer. The first thing that appeared on the screen was ‘PASSWORD’.

“Son of a bitch.” He wished Sam was here. This whole hacking thing was more of a Sam talent, electronics and all. Dean exhaled slowly and typed in some numbers and was greeted with “INVALID PASSWORD’. He hissed a cursed and tried “Rosstain Corp’ and the same words appeared. Dean kicked the desk.

That saved him further hell with the computer. One of the drawers slipped open for a brief moment and he caught the glint of metal on top of a pile of papers. He made a quick grab for the drawer before it slid shut again. The small snub nose gun lay on top of the papers like a handy paperweight.

“This is too easy,” Dean muttered, when a lady with light hair and hardly any make up opened the door. Her face froze for a moment as she stared at Dean.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice could slice ice. She zeroed in on him like a laser beam. Dean flashed The Smile. For a woman who had to make a run all the way to purchasing (wherever that was) Adrianna Langley looked impossibly smooth, not even her hair was out of place.

“Tech support,” he said, tapping the tag clipped onto his pocket.

“Mr. Follett didn’t mention anything about tech support. Who let you in?”

“Uh….” Dean managed to look embarrassed and sheepish. “Well, there wasn’t anyone around so I kinda let myself in…. See, Mr. Follett called me and if you didn’t know anything about it, then that’s your problem. I’ve gotta job to finish.” Dean turned his attention back to the computer, taking the chance to shut the drawer.

Adrianna Langley paused. “All of Mr. Follett’s calls go through me.”

“Well, I don’t know, miss…but how ‘bout you call him for me cause there’s something seriously wrong with his computer.” Dean gave her a smile as he pretended to fix the computer which hadn’t loaded more than the password page.

She actually looked taken aback for a moment but recovered quickly. “Fine,” she snapped and reached for her phone. “Hello, Mr. Follett?... yes… no, but there’s a man here from tech support to fix your computer and he wants to speak to you…” She hesitated, then handed the phone to Dean. “Here.”

Dean flashed her his best grateful smile but it was like trying to melt an ice berg with a match stick. He gave up. “Hello, Mr. Follett. It’s me,” Dean said into the Blackberry as he danced his fingers across the keyboard and prayed to God that Adrianna Langley did not come over to actually see what he was doing.

“Who the hell are you? I didn’t have anything scheduled today so get the fuck away from my computer!” Follett shouted into the phone.

“Well, I would but we’ve got a really big problem here, sir.”

“I don’t fucking care—.”

“Oh but you should care because this problem I’ve discovered… it’s really tough to handle. And if I get other people—better people—to investigate… it’s not gonna look pretty at all. Call it a matter of life and death.”

The line on the other end had gone completely silent. Then very faintly, Follett said, “Who is this?”

Dean hung up and handed the phone back to Langley. “He’s on his way,” he informed her very seriously before going back to work. Langley glared at him once more then turned away and strode briskly to her desk, shutting the door behind her.

Ten minutes later, paul Follett, burst into the offie with all his silk and velvet glory. “What the hell is going on?” he yelled. He stopped and gave Dean a hard look while peeling of leather gloves and slapping them down onto the table. Outside, Adrianna Langley had the phone poised in her hand, ready to call security if the need arose.

“Here’s the problem.” Dean said. He grabbed Follett and steered him to the desk and pushed him down into his chair none too gently.

“Sir, should I—?”

“There’s no need, Adrianna,” Follett said. He was staring at the gun in the drawer which Dean had slid open for him to see. His voice was smooth and perfectly in control. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. It seems I did call Mr….”

“Milton,” Dean supplied helpfully, letting go of the tight hold he had on Follett’s shoulder.

“Yes… Mr. Milton. Everything’s fine, Adrianna. You may excuse yourself.” His eyes flickered briefly from his secretary to the drawer. “Please shut the door as you leave.”

Arianna Langley did not move. She gazed, stunned, at her boss then at Dean, her eyes moving back and forth between them, suspicion flashing once across her features. Finally, her face fell into the same neutral mask and she said, “Very well, sir.” She turned around and left, closing the door behind her with a civil click. 

“You planted it there,” Follett hissed between clenched teeth.

“I didn’t. But really, that’s not the main issue here. Problem is, Paul, if the police were to gat hold of this little… detail, chances are things aren’t going to look too good or you now, would it?” Dean tapped Follett’s shoulder, feeling muscles twitch.

“I didn’t do it… they can’t possibly pin it on me! I—,” Paul Follett struggled for words. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack and was losing the fight to rear in is emotions.

“I know, Paul. Anyone could have put it there,” Dean said sympathetically, his voice sounding fake even to his own ears. He waited for a moment, enjoying the sight of Paul Follett, CEO of Rosstain Corp, choking for an explanation, then Dean said, “Unless, of course, you were stupid enough to leave the murder weapon in your own drawer.” Paul Follett’s eyes met his in the ensuing silence. The sound of electronics humming was strangely loud and Follett didn’t blink even when a bead of sweat found its way into his eye.

“What do you want? Money? A big fat check?” Follett asked in a strained voice. 

“First of all, I’ll be taking this off your hands.” Dean opened the briefcase and picked up the gun with a piece of cloth. Then he dropped it into a plastic bag before carefully placing it into the briefcase.

Follett watched Dean close the briefcase, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “What now?”

“Now I want you to shut your pie hole and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“That’s it?” Follett asked, breathing shakily. He pulled himself out of the chair and made his way to the mini bar. Now that the worst seemed to be over, he felt the need for a very strong drink. “I still don’t know who you are,” he said, pouring himself a full glass of scotch and downing it in a gulp.

Dean shrugged. “I worked for your wife. She asked me to keep an eye on you… let’s just leave it at that.” 

Follet snorted in disgust. “I always though she had someone on me. I mean, the things she sprang on me… God.” He helped himself to another drink. Dean rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

“W—wait.” Dean paused, turned around to quirk an eyebrow at Follett. “You’re an investigator, right? Jezebel’s investigator. Aren’t you going to look into this? Find out who’s trying to frame me?” He sounded just a little bit desperate.

“I would love to but hey, a man’s gotta eat.”

“Well, I—.”

Follet was grating. “Look, Paul,” Dean said. “I don’t work for free and unless you plan to hire me, I think we’re done here.”

“How much?” Follett was full of surprises. Dean should give him more credit.  
“Seriously? Whoa… well, for starters…,” and Dean knew he was pushing it here. “Three thousand would be nice.”

Follett scowled but pulled out a check book anyway and scribbled a figure before handing the paper to Dean.

“Thank you,” Dean said, plucking the check from Follett’s fingers and no, he did not stare at the check at all. “Now, to begin with, you’re going to have to tell me who you think would want to frame you for your wife’s murder. Anyone you can think of, people who don’t like you or your wife because, just a quick reminder, she’s the real victim here.” Dean tried hard to keep the glee from his voice. 

*

Castiel watched in horror as Dean slipped into the car, holding a check in one hand and kissing it before slipping it lovingly into his pocket.

“Dean…,” Castiel said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as appaled as he felt.

“What?” Dean said defensively, even though he knew fairly well what Castiel was referring to.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t—? Oh, Cas, how could you even think that? You cut deep,” Dean said angrily, sounding a trifle hurt. Castiel cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed.

“Then how did you get it?”

“Not through blackmail, okay? It my pay check.” Dean refused to meet Castiel’s raised eyebrows and instead, started the Impala’s engine. “Don’t ask, okay? Just know it’s perfectly legal.”

“Oh,” Castiel said guiltily. “Did you find anything?” he asked as Dean did a rather violent swerve to avoid a little old lady crossing the road out of no where.

“Well, he didn’t do it.” Dean said. “And then, there’s this.” He patted the briefcase that was beside his leg. Castiel popped it open and examined the bagged snub nose, frowning. It was most likely the same gun. “It was in his desk.”

“Strangely convenient,” Castiel murmured, turning the gun around, watching the metal glint in the sunlight.

Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. Exactly why I believe Paul Follett when he told me he didn’t do it. Guy’s smart but not smart enough for mind games. Has plenty of enemies too. Gave me a long list of people who he thought would like to frame him but… nothing substantial.” Dean sighed, and blared his horn at a driver who kept witching lanes and didn’t know where he wanted to be. “Jerk.”

Castiel placed the gun back into the case. “We should drop by the station. I need to hand this to ballistics.”

“Later,” Dean said. 

“Dean, where are we going?”

“My office.” After a paused, Dean said. “Technically, my office but Sam uses it more than me… I’m more of a field guy.”

Dean’s office was in the Lower East Side, a rather old row of buildings, a tad shadier than it’s newer neighbours. The place was dark and gloomy, just like Dean’s flat and the rent was probably cheap. Dean turned sharply into a parking spot, causing Castiel to swing violently to the left. He shot Dean a look.

Dean shrugged apologetically. Castiel followed Dean two shops down and up three flights of stairs to a windowed door with some missing alphabets. Instead there was a notice stuck on the glass that announced the name of the establishment and its workers. Castiel’ eyes rested on ‘Robert Singer’. 

Dean threw open the creaking door. “Here we are,” he announced. The room could have been wide, it was hard to tell with the mess of papers and files. Three desk were crammed inside and one enormous cupboards filled with files and books. Castiel read some titles of the shelves; Criminal Profiling, Third Edition; An Introduction to Behavioral Analysis, Forensic Pathology, Second Edition, The Anatomy of Motive by John Douglas and a list of every book Castiel had ever heard his seniors recommend in the academy and then some. Dean’s desk was a hailstorm of documents, notes, files and books. Another desk was an exact replica of Dean’s but worse. Books were stacked like a small wall and there were files lying open with Post-It’s stuck in between the pages.

Sam’s desk was perhaps the neat, organised one; pens in their places, files neatly stacked except there were documents on the desk, a few scattered papers. There was a chalk board (an actual chalkboard not whiteboard) with scribbled writing and pin ups, detailing several on going investigations at once.

Castiel approached the board for a closer inspection and heard the toilet flush. A man in a wheel chair rolled out from the loo squashed in the corner.

“Dean, you better fix the bloody toilet like you said or we’re calling the plumber like I said we did weeks earlier,” he grumbled and then he noticed Castiel. He stopped before he ran over Castiel’s toes and glared at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m going to, Bobby. Just a little busy lately,” Dean said, working the fax machine. Castiel noticed they were documents for Paul Follett to sign. “Bobby, Cas. Cas, Bobby.”

“You the cop?” the man asked, eye narrowing to slits. He oozed authority without trying, sounded like a man who was used to getting his questions answered. Castiel wondered how to explain.

 

“Was, Bobby. They sacked him,” Dean said as he watched the fax machine spit out some papers that ha been signed.

Castiel turned to Bobby Singer. “I was suspended.”

Bobby answered by raising his eyebrows until they disappeared into his cap. “What d’ya do to deserve that?” He circled around Castiel and made for his desk.

Castiel shrugged and replied, “Dean.” Dean was very directly not looking at Castiel or Bobby and seemed inadvertently busy with his papers. Bobby’s gaze swivelled from Dean to Castiel in disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered and narrowed his eyes on Dean again. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well…,” Dean cleared his throat. “Follett, right… Follett mentioned something about Jennifer Udell, said that he felt something was going on between them.”

“Like *something* was going on *between* them or something was *going on* between them?” Bobby asked. Dean gave Bobby a look.

“Bobby, I really can’t tell the difference.”

Bobby huffed. “Just trying to help.” And muttered something under his breath neither of them could make out. The relief that Bobby didn’t press on the whole Castiel thing was etched into Dean’s face. 

He started randomly grabbing some things and said, “Well, like I said, busy day, Bobby. We gotta run.” He darted out of the office. Castiel gave a nod to Bobby before following and Bobby had his suspicious face on that meant there was going to be a hell lot of questions later. “We need to check out the Udell chick,” Dean said as they were going down the stairs.

“You told him about me?” Castiel asked quietly, when they were making their wy to the car.

Dean paused, eyes narrowed in confusion. “What—? Uh… yes and… no.” He tossed his keys from one hand to another, eyes on the pavement, shifting uneasily. “I told him about you… but not about us…yet,” he said carefully.

“Why?” Castiel asked, stopping in his steps forcing Dean to stop to and face him.

“Why?” Dean asked, disbelief tingeing his voice. “I don’t know, Cas. Maybe because I don’t really know what we are. Maybe I’ve had too many people walk in and out of my life to belief anything concrete.” Dean was almost yelling because it reminded him that every time—every time something good happened to Dean Winchester, it gets ripped away just as fast. And maybe Dean was getting tired of ii. Maybe he was just… scared. He didn’t judge Cas to be a that sort of person but hey, that’s life. You never know when it’ll smack you in the face and Dean wasn’t going to take another leap of faith.

Castiel was staring at him intently, his face unreadable. Then he leaned in and kissed Dean very softly. “Regardless of what you think, I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” He strode off towards the Impala, leaving Dean standing slightly stunned. 

*

“We should really call Michael,” Castiel said as Dean watched Udell’s house from afar with a binoculars.

“What?” said Dean putting down his binoculars to look at Castiel. He was trying not to feel awkward that Castiel just confessed his love for him less than an hour ago and all Dean did was reply with his mouth hanging open.

“I’ve been to Udell’s. I questioned her. She was suspicious but suspicion itself does not warrant an arrest. Michael is an inspector and he has the authority to handle this. We do not.”

“Follett just hired me. I’m pretty sure it’s okay for me to do this,” Dean said as he started to get out of the car. Castiel sighed and made to follow him but Dean held him back. “She’s already met you. Sorry, Cas,” Dean said. “But I think you’re going to have to sit this one out.” There was a painfully stretched out pause. Then Dean turned away and started walking to Udell’s house leaving Castiel to worry all by himself. He watched as Udell answered the door and Dean stepped in. He had a bad feeling.

“So… Dean, right?” Udell asked as she led him through the hall. Dean looked around, feeling out of place amidst the luxury. Compared to most rich women he’d met, Udell definitely was a class of her own. Her taste in furniture and colour was unique and he quite liked it. Udell wore her hair short and it complimented her slim athletic build.

She motioned him into a chair. “Whiskey?” she asked not waiting for a reply, she poured a glass for him. “What can I do for you? Jezebel’s spoke so much about you… very fond of you I gather.” She smiled absently. “I feel like I already know you.” Dean took a sip from the glass, returned a smile of his own but didn’t reply. The whiskey left a comfortable burn down his throat.

“How are you?” she continued, her tone much more serious and interested. “The last time I heard about you was from the police. I suppose they cleared up all misunderstandings?”

Dean studied the whiskey and met her gaze. “I work for Paul Follett now.”

Barely perceptible shift of expression. “Oh,” she said, shrugging. She had difficulty swallowing but she covered it very well and Dean would have missed it if he wasn't paying attention to her body language. She rubbed the empty glass between both of her hands. Dean noticed her perfectly manicured nails. “It’s not that I have anything against that… just… don’t you think Mr. Follett’s character is highly… questionable?”

“Highly,” Dean agreed. She had strong arms. Her satin blouse showed the sinewy muscles of a person who probably worked out regularly. “Found a gun in his drawer. Freaked him out.”

Her eyes went round. “God. You told the police? Are they going to arrest him?” She looked visibly distressed, downing another shot of whiskey with practiced ease.

Dean chose his next words carefully. “Well, the police don’t think it’s him.” Cas still classified as part of the police, he supposed. “They think someone planted it there. To make him look bad.” He watched her eyelashes flutter for a moment and she placed the glass on the table. “Besides, he hired me. He wouldn’t if he wasn’t innocent. Follett’s a politician, he’s not gong to take the risk.” 

She nodded. “You’re right.” She stood up and made her way to the bar counter, fixing herself another drink. “Why exactly are you here, Dean?” there was an edge to her voice that wasn’t there earlier.

“The gun that was planted. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it.” It came out more like a statement than the question he intended. There was only a slight tensing of her shoulders. A shift in the atmosphere. Dean rose slowly, placing his glass on the table without a sound and took a few steps towards her. “Jennifer?” Dean stopped. 

“Sounds’ like you know everything, Dean. But you don’t have a fucking clue.” Udell said, shaking her head, her voice trembling slightly, but the sharp edge to it was ever present. Over her shoulder Dean caught the glimpse of dark metal, with a swift sudden movement she turned around. And fired. 

*

The gunsot was deafening and it seemed to last forever. Castiel felt a chill run trhough his ver bones. He din’t move for a whole second and was cursing himself as he kicked his legs into motion. He yanked open the car door and ran across the street. He could hear the thin sound of a woman screaming.

The door to Udell’s house opened before he reached it and a woman came running out, she grabbed his arm and was as pale as a ghost, trembling all over as she struggled to speak, frantically pointing into the house. Castiel had no time to console her. He shook her off and pulled out his hand phone.

“Uriel, I need police personal at Jennifer’s Udell’s residence and paramedics immediately,” he snapped and didn’t wait for Uriel to finish his question. “Now!” He thrust the phone into his pocket and aced down the hall. Another loud bang. A series of gunshots and Castiel forced his stomach to settle, tried to stop seeing Dean’s dead body in his mind’s eye, his palms felt cold and clammy. He reached the living room at a rush pace. 

Udell was struggling with Dean on the floor, both were trying to wrestle for the gun, flacks of plaster was about them. Castiel’s immediate relief of seeing Dean alive was dampened by the fact that there was blood. Blood on the carpet, blood from Dean’s arm. He didn’t wait to see who won the gun but grabbed the first thing in reach. Castiel slammed the thick hardcover book on to Udell’s head. She slummed on top of Dean instantly. Castiel kicked the gun away before reaching down to help Dean up.

“Just a flesh wound,” Dean assured him when he saw Castiel’s pale worried face. He looked at Udell’s prone form. “God, she is strong. I mean, like really strong.”

“Dean.” Castiel pulled him into a tight hug.

“Hey, Cas, it’s okay. I’m fine.” Dean said, running a soothing hand down Castiel’s back, the way Cas looked, like he had been from hell and back, twisted something in Dean’s gut. He never wanted to see that look again. Dean buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck and breathe in the warm familiar scent before sparing another glance at Udell. Unconscious, slack jaw and sprawled at odd angles flat against the floor. He hoped Castiel hadn’t killed her… no, she was breathing. But the book looked pretty heavy. He started laughing softly.

“Dean?” Castiel asked.

“No—nothing.” Dean would have to tell Castiel later. For now, he was contented to rest in Castiel arms as the sound of sirens pervaded the air. The gold coloured words of the Holy Bible gleamed in the light.

*

Dean sat on the hospital bed as Jessica stitched up is wound and did a neat dressing. He tried not to wince as he watched Castiel and Uriel in the near distance. Just minutes ago the man was almost in pieces and had held him like he was life itself. Now Castiel was clearly back in work mode, after he was assured that Dean had suffered no grievous harm. The thought made him smile a little.

“Dean, are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” Sam yelled, scattering Dean’s fantasies and thoughts. Dean glared at him.

“Sam, no shouting in the hospital,” Jessica reminded him primly.

“Yeah, Sammy, shut up,” Dean said. Jessica just happened to be on shift tonight and had to inform Sam all about it. Sam, being a good brother had came rushing in, arms flailing like Dean was about to have a major surgery. Totally drama-queen.

“Dean, we’re just worried about you,” Jessica said gently as she bandaged his arm. “There.” She patted his arm proudly. Sam gave Dean his best bitch face and looked down right unsatisfied for someone whose brother just dodge a bullet. Literally.

* * *

 

“Are you interrogating her now?” Castiel asked. He tuned out Sam’s stern lecture to Dean from inside the ward. Uriel was glancing absently around before resting his eyes on Castiel. He seemed uneasy.

“Yes,” Uriel said. He turned to walk down the hall, Castiel striding beside him, and stopped at a private ward. They watched as a doctor checked Jennifer Udell’s head and wrapped it neatly. It seemed Castiel had given her quite a blow. Uriel was silent, jaw tightening.

“I want to be there,” Castiel said looking Uriel in the eye as he said each word slowly.

“You’re not a cop anymore, Castiel.”

“I’m not going to repeat myself. If you have ever valued our friendship, you are going to let me into that room for the questioning.” Emotional threats weren’t something Castiel was used to or ever thought he would use. But he had done so much in this case. He even stopped the suspect (now perpetrator) without a firearm. This case he deserved to see till the end. 

Uriel actually looked conflicted. Then he nodded solemnly towards the door, pushed it opened and walked in.

The doctor looked up, face drawn and serious and absolutely disapproving. “She’s had a mild concussion. Try not to stress her.” He sighed and walked out closing the door behind him.

“Hello, Jennifer,” Uriel said as he drew a chair from beside the bed and placed it opposite her instead. He sat down, back straight, arms folded and gave her an assessing look. She glared back. There was a swelling bruise on her left cheek, and her hair was tousled from the bandage but other wise she seemed filled with inner defiance. Castiel took his place by the wall near the door, arms crossed watching them both. 

“So, tell me,” Uriel said, voice always in a low mock. “What ticked you off?”

“Nothing, I just did it for kicks,” she snapped, voice laced with sarcasm. “I just occasionally like to shoot people.” She turned away from them staring instead at the wall to her right.

Uriel went on as if he didn’t hear her. “Did you panic? Or was it something that Winchester said? You had it going pretty well—of course, the police would have found new evidence eventually—but you. Lost. Your. Cool.”

She turned to him sharply. “You don’t know anything,” she spat. “And I’m not saying another word until—.”

“You loved her,” Castiel said quietly. Udell turned to stare at him, wide eyed. Uriel was silent. Castiel ignored him and held Udell’s gaze. “You gave her your necklace.”

She bit her lower lip, looking younger than her age and vulnerable for the first time. She shook her head. “Nothing escapes you, does it?” She turned and smiled a bit hopelessly at him. Only now did Castiel notice her blood shot eyes and the light scratches on her face. “Have you been in love?” she asked, her attention now completely on Castiel. Uriel had ceased to matter for her. She looked into his face and seemed satisfied with what she saw, her small sad smile turning into something secret which she thought he shared. Castiel kept his face straight. 

“That necklace was handed to me by my mother. I threw it away after I took it back from her. She didn’t deserve it and I couldn’t have kept it anymore.” Udell said, sighing. “I was always there for her. Everytime Paul and her fought, she’d come to me. Every time she was upset, I dropped everything to help her. She told me no one understood her like I did. She said she was going to leave Paul and I believed her… each time, over and over…,” Udell laughed, sharp and bitter. “Empty words. She never did. She never really wanted to, I guess.” She looked away, chewing her lip again. “I just don’t understand, after all that unhappiness, the verbal abuse, she would go back every time….”She trailed off, seeing something none of them did. “I don’t understand at all….”

“So you shot her because she wouldn’t leave Paul Follett?” Uriel asked, raised eyebrows.

“No!” Udell shouted, her face contorted in anger. “No, it wasn’t that. I thought… she needed time. She seemed serious that week, after their last argument. I’d said I’d wait.” Her voice was a little softer now, eyes, brimming with tears. “So, that night, Jezebel doesn’t show up for the party, I went back to check on her. I doubt anyone saw me leave, I didn’t even take my car, just got into a cab. And I see…,” she struggled for control. “I see her all over that Winchester investigator.” She was heaving in deep breaths now, she turned to look at the ceiling because all she could see in Castiel’s eyes were pity.

“Oh God! I was so angry. So, so angry. I could have killed them both.” She was shaking a little, from rage or regret, Castiel didn’t know. “I went through the back door—they didn’t see me— made my way upstairs, took the gun from her dresser. I was just so angry, thinking how could she, after all I’ve done, how unfair she was being. She was just coming out of the living room and I was going down the stairs. And I shot her.” Udell was crying freely now. “I just shot her. I didn’t really mean to. But when I saw her, god, all the anger, all that rage just… exploded.” She let out a laugh which turned into a choke sob.

She turned her red eyes on Castiel. “I would have killed him. If he hadn’t already left, I would have shot him too.”

“But instead it left you with a perfect opportunity to make Dean Winchester the prime suspect,” Uriel said. “Well, didn’t work out as planned, hmm? So you try to pin it on Follet instead?”

Udell faced him sharply. “That bastard deserved it. He never loved her, made her miserable.”

“But you did,” Uriel said, the barest hint of disdain in his voice. “And what a nice way of showing it, putting a bullet through Jezebel.”

“I have feelings. She treated me like one of her therapist. Do you have any idea how much I struggled with myself over her?” Uriel’s face was impassive. “And she treated me like someone whom she could pay to listen to her.” Udell’s face was truly wet now. Castile didn’t meet her next searching gaze. He had enough. Uriel would deal with the official statements later.

Jennifer Udell, beautiful, successful with a bright career but now a murderess for no reason either than she failed to master herself in that awful moment of revelation. Emotion, Castiel decided, was a powerful thing. 

* * *

“So… it was murder but not a crime,” Dean said when Castiel had told him Udell’s confession. Castiel was inspecting Dean’s bandage (he did not trust the hospital doctors), aided by the dim light of Dean’s living room.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Every murder is a crime, Dean. Your observation does not bear merit.”

“I know, just saying, you know… from *Chicago*?” At Castiel’s blank face, Dean rolled his eyes and promptly gave up. Castiel went back to inspecting Dean’s arm, efficiently changing fresh bandages. “Like I said, it’s fine,” Dean muttered. Castiel had gone so quiet it unnerved him.

“She told me she didn’t love her anymore,” Castiel said, looking up at Dean after he had finished bandaging his arm. He traced the stark whiteness of the bandage, seemingly in deep thought. “I think she still loved her… or she wouldn’t have cried so hard.”

Dean shook his head. He had a million comebacks at the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them. “She probably regrets it though she may never admit it. It’s easier to live in anger than to live in regret, y’know?” He paused. “Maybe… she loved Jezebel too much. It can be horrible, I think, the things people do when they love someone so much it hurts.”

Castiel rested a hand on Dean’s face, fingers idly rubbing small circles against his cheek. “You can’t love someone too much, Dean. Somehow you’re not convinced love is a good thing.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes resting his head against the wall. “It’s not that….” He exhaled slowly. Words always seem to fail him in his time of need and Castiel was probably looking at him expectantly, not wanting an answer but probably needing one. He collected his thoughts and opened his eyes. “Okay, frankly, I think love is a cruel trick life plays on us. It gives you an illusion that you have everything you want and when it goes, it takes everything and then some. And I know lots of people who got in to that kind of shit. My dad being one of them.” He didn’t look at Castiel as he said this but he could feel the burn of Castiel’s gaze on him. 

Castiel leaned forward and kissed Dean slowly, tracing the seam of Dan’s lips and pulling away even as Dean moaned, chasing the taste of Castiel with his tongue. He held Dean’s face in his hands, firmly, waiting until Dean focused on him. “Wasn’t it worth it? Even though you know it wouldn’t last and it would be painful eventually… wouldn’t it be worth the pain? Your father knew that, that’s why… that’s why he was hurt so much.” 

Dean stared in to blue depths, like a bottomless ocean, feeling the warmth of Castiel’s fingers, thumbs pressed against his skin, so sure, so real. “Yeah,” he said softly and kissed Castiel, thinking he never tasted anything sweeter. Castiel moaned quietly, licking into Dean’s mouth with familiar ease, eyelashes fluttering close. Dean thought he never looked more beautiful, hair ruffled and clothes a messed after their long day.

“Dean.” He gasped, when Dean licked a strip along Castiel’s jaw line, feeling rough stubble—a burn he could get used to—pressing kisses into the shell of his ear, an occasional thrust of his tongue. “I should go… you should—rest.” He nipped along Castiel’s jaw, down the smooth skin of his neck. Castiel smelt like sweat and want and always that hint of freshness just under it all. Castiel was protesting softly, voice low and rough and so goddamn hot. It seem to be becoming a bad habit of Castiel, making Dean all worked up and hot then blowing him off and leaving him cold.

Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek, mouth open and breath hot against his skin even as he pulled away. “Oh no, you don’t,” Dean growled, grabbing Castiel and pulling him for a deep kiss, sucking on his lower lip before delving into Castiel’s mouth, kissing and kissing him until Castiel was soft and pliable and dazed in his arms. He desperately didn’t want Castiel to leave and he didn’t know why because there was so much more to this than he expected.

He could hear Castiel’s breathing hard, one warm hand on Dean chest. Dean pressed his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, smelling him, tasting him, just feeling the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest and the heavy weight of him in Dean’s lap.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asked, breath ghosting over Dean’s ear, his other hand stroking down Dean’s back in a slow soothing motions.

Dean pulled back and gazed into Castiel’s face. The soft affection and endless patience he saw made something curl up in his chest, so tight it almost hurts. “You,” and it’s barely a whisper but there’s no hesitation behind it and Castiel looks at him like it was the answer to every question he would not ask. Dean kissed it into Castiel mouth, his skin, all the words he probably wouldn’t say. 

Castiel groaned, hands burying in Dean’s hair and turned the kiss into something dirtier, slide of tongue, warm and wet and messy. But it felt good and hot and something Dean never wanted to stop doing. He skimmed his hands down Castiel’s side, tugging out the stiff shirt. The first touch of warm skin sent electricity from his fingers right to his dick. He can feel Cas half hard against him, rubbing a slow lazy rhythm—there’s too many layer’s between them—nothing urgent in his movements yet. Dean can’t stop touching him, hands needing to feel so much more. Castiel tilted his head back, mouth open and eyes closed and Dean licked the hollow of his neck, tracing his collarbone with the tip of his tongue and sucking bruises on his shoulder. 

God, he needed to—Castiel made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan and Dean wants to fuck him now—he needed to get them somewhere more comfortable. He nudge Castiel backwards gently and Cas seemed to get the hint, pulling back slowly but lips never leaving Dean’s, kissing him like he needed Dean to breathe. Dean steered them slowly to the bedroom, pulling Castiel’s belt off at the same time, taking the chance to brush his knuckles against Castiel’s erection and smiling when he heard Castiel made a soft surprised noise. The tie was a lost cause anyway and disappeared somewhere on the floor. 

Dean had to break away for air and because he wasn’t making any progress with the shirt’s buttons, fingers suddenly clumsy and shaking slightly like he was back in fucking high school. Castiel doesn’t laugh but Dean can see the amusement in his eyes when he looked up. “Need help?” Castiel mouthed, pressing kisses to the side of his face, one hand popping open buttons easily while the other rested on Dean’s neck. He slipped out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor and suddenly Dean had a wide expanse of smooth skin and heat to touch.

Castiel let out a muffled grunt as his back hit the doorknob. “Sorry,” Dean murmured but he can’t stop himself from dipping down to suck on Castiel’s nipple, tongue pressing against the hard nub and Castiel is moaning loudly, finger’s pressing into Dean’s skull with increasing urgency. Castiel is hard against his thigh and they are probably not going to make it into the bedroom.

Dean opened the door. They both stumble and nearly fall because of that but Dean managed to hold his balance, using their momentum to push Castiel fast and hard onto the bed. Castiel groaned, hands reaching up to tug at Dean’s shirt. Dean pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room, diving back to lave at another nipple, loving the feel of Castiel arching beneath him, heels digging into the mattress for some leverage. “D-Dean ,” he moaned, in a stuttered breath, fingers digging into Dean’s back, rolling his hips against Dean, desperate for some friction. Dean was so hard it was almost painful, but he could wait, he could be patient if he got to see Castiel squirming with need and want, lips red swollen from kisses and pupils blown until they were almost black.

He traced the contours of Castiel’s abs with his tongue, drawing mindless patterns, going lower and lower, teasing until he could hear Castiel’s ragged breaths and a noise that could have been a whine. He was licking the hollow of Castiel’s hip when Cas hauled him up suddenly, Mouth fierce and demanding, tongue thrusting into Dean’s mouth and flipping them over. He straddled Dean’s thighs, hair sticking out in all directions, holding Dean down and pining his hands above him with surprising strength, Dean felt his breath hitch.

Castiel leaned down slowly, pressing their bodies flushed together, nothing but hot skin on skin and suddenly Dean’s cock was straining in the confines of his jeans. “My turn,” Castiel said, dragging Dean’s ear lobe into his mouth with his teeth and sucking gently.

“Cas….” He knew he was whining but he really didn’t care. He was going to come in his pants if Castiel didn’t stop that slow slide down his body, pressing kisses and teasing his nipples until they were hard and sensitive after Castiel hot mouth. “Damn you,” Dean moaned, straining his arms half heartedly. Castiel responded by biting Dean’s neck, then sucking on the bruise with deliberate enthusiasm. Dean gasped, tilting his head back as Castiel moved slowly to his shoulder, sucking greedily and making his way down. 

His tongue circled Dean’s navel briefly before dipping inside, soft wet trail that made Dean arch to the touch as Castiel opened the button of his jeans and drew down the zipper with his teeth, hot breath making Dean so hard he was leaking pre-come. He gritted his teeth and tried not to buck up as Castiel mouthed his cock through his briefs, fingers trailing around his waist, trying to push his jeans down. Dean lifted his hips to allow Castiel to pull off his jeans and briefs. The cool air against his heated skin made him whimper, and Dean watched, breath in stutters as Castiel lowered his eyes, lashes caressing his cheekbones before taking Dean into his mouth.

He slammed his head back into the mattress, cursing under his breath and trying to hold still. Warm, wet heat of Castiel’s mouth, so hot like an inferno, stretch around him, taking him in. Then Castiel pressed his tongue to the slit of cock and Dean nearly choked on air, palms digging into the sheets. “Cas—fuck,” he hissed. Castiel began dragging his tongue along the length of Dean’s cock and suddenly going in down on him again. Dean could feel the tip of his cock, brushing the back of Castiel throat, so tight, he groaned—he was seeing white in his vision. “Cas, fuck, stop— ,” Dean moaned, one hand fisting through Castiel hair, mass of dark curls made for Dean to grab and thread his fingers through. “If you don’t, I’m gonna— .” He had to give himself credit for even managing two coherent words at this time. Castiel just ignored him, humming softly, vibrations making Dean moaned even louder. He was so close to the edge he didn't care if he was fucking Castiel’s mouth, so close… and than Castiel was gone, lips red and wet, trailing saliva and pre-come, eyes glinting and locked on Dean’s. 

His cock was straining at the lost of attention—god, he was so hard—but not near enough to the edge yet. “Fuck you—.” Dean started saying.

“Yes,” Castiel whispered, voice rough, a sound that seemed to be peeling at Dean’s skin and making him shiver. Castiel crawled up and kissed hum again, mouth open and tasting like Dean, salty and spicy and heady. He shimmed out of his trousers with graceful ease, boxer following in suite and straddled Dean again, moaning low and long at the first slide of hot skin as their cocks rubbed against one another. “I—want you… to. *Fuck. Me*,” Castiel gasped each word in Dean’s ear, body burning, fingers curled in his hair as they moved together desperate for friction. Dean’s brain was mush anyway, so he just gave a grunt of agreement, gesturing towards the drawer.

Above him, Castiel shifted, stretching languorously across Dean to reach the drawer, grabbing lube and a condom. Dean grabbed the packet, tearing it with his teeth and barely able to roll it down the length of his cock without Castiel’s help, hissing softly. Castiel warmed lube between his palms before stroking down Dean’s cock. Dean groaned, hands grasping at Castiel’s shoulders. It seemed Castiel was trying to see the number of times he could make Dean suffer from not coming. He managed to slick his fingers with copious amount of lube before bringing them to circle Castiel’s hole.

Castiel winced slightly at the first intrusion of Dean’s finger but he relaxed gradually and Dean worked in a second finger. God, Castiel was tight. He brushed Castiel’s prostrate and Cas made a sound that was so low and filthy Dean could just come from it. “Dean… Dean,” Castiel gasped, eyes close and head tilted back, exposing the long expanse of his neck, body arched and taut. Dean licked his lips as Castiel leaned forward to kiss him. The angle was terrible but he didn’t care. As long as Castiel was fucking himself high on Dean’s finger’s and the expression of his face…. 

“St— stop…,” Castiel moaned softly, tongue coming out briefly, tracing Dean’s jaw. “Stop, Dean… I’m ready.” 

Dean swallowed, pulling his fingers out and resting his hands on Castiel’s hips. Castiel didn’t even pause, just sank himself on Dean’s cock, eyes fluttering shut and mouth open with almost a sigh, engulfing him in tight hot flesh and pulsating muscles. “Fuck!” Dean shouted. He knew his fingers were digging hard enough into Castiel’s hips for bruises to form tomorrow but right now—right now he just wanted to fuck both their brains out.

Castiel lifted himself almost completely off and sank down again, one hand bracing himself on the headboard, the other pressed against Dean’s chest. Dean breaths came out in ragged pants as he tried to find a rhythm in their thrusting. He shifted and the change of angle must have hit the right spot because, Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and cursed softly. Then he let Castiel fuck himself in earnest on Dean’s cock, meeting him thrust for thrust, loving the feel of Castiel around him and the way light slanted off the planes of his body.

Castiel mouth was brushing his. “Dean…,” he panted, moving faster and faster, losing their rhythm, close to the edge, eyes bright and so deeply blue, Dean felt like he was staring into the universe. The hand squeezing Dean’s bicep could have been painful but somehow still managing to avoid his wound. Dean summoned enough brain cells to wrap a fist around Castiel’s cock, jerking him with a twist at the head. 

Then, Castiel had thrown his head back in a wordless cry and was coming all over Dean’s stomach, shuddering and muscles spasming around Dean’s cock and everything went white.

Orgasm hit him like a wave, pulsing and thrumming as he emptied himself inside Castiel, dimly aware that more come was getting on his thighs and abdomen. Someone was saying a string of incoherent words. And he realised it was him spilling Castiel’s name. Castiel collapsed on top of him, body sticky and warm, breathing hard. Dean tried to even his breathing, letting his hand rub slowly on Castiel’s sweat slick back. 

Castiel pushed himself up long enough to kiss Dean lazily, a smile playing on his lips before he settled back down, oblivious or uncaring of the sticky mess. Tying up the condom and throwing it in the general direction of his wastepaper basket, Dean grabbed a sheet, rubbed off the best he could and made to get a towel to clean them both. “Cas…” But Castiel just moaned sleepily and buried his face in Dean’s neck, hair tickling Dean’s face.

Dean sighed. Clean up could always wait until morning. There were probably things he wanted to say, like how much he wanted Cas, how he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. He felt warm and satiated and just so damn fucking please he could throw open the window and shout it out, maybe wake the neighbours. But Cas was already drifting off, limbs loose and hair a mess, smelling of sex and Dean. Dean shifted Castiel’s weight and went to sleep, arms wrapped around Castiel.

* *

The strong morning that poured through Dean’s window was a force of nature he could not ignore. He stretched and groaned, feeling dried come on his skin, uncomfortable but bearable. He realised that the space beside him was once again deserted. Fighting down the momentary wave of panic (really, why would he panic?), Dean glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. “Shit.”

He sat up with an uneasy sense of déjà vu and wondered what possibly bad could have happened yesterday that led to him not waking up to Castiel beside him. Again. Dean took a deep breath and shook off the feeling rising in him. He just had the best mind blowing sex ever yesterday night and now he was feeling insecure. Besides Cas wouldn’t take off without some kind of note. 

He pulled himself together and went for a shower. Hopefully it did more than clean him but chased away all of Dean’s stupid thoughts as well. He pulled on a fresh pair of Jeans and a shirt, noticing Castiel’s own clothes were in a disordered pile on a chair. Well, if Cas had left he certainly taken the liberty of stealing Dean’s clothes because yesterday’s shirt and jeans was nowhere in sight. Dean went padding to the hall but there was no sign of Castiel. He was just about to turn to the kitchen when he heard the door open and close softly.

Castiel was wearing his chequered shirt and denim jeans, low slung a the hips because they were slightly larger than Castiel’s actual size, looking embarrassed. Dean grinned. “Have I mentioned how hot it is that you just wore my clothes out?”

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel shrugged handing Dean a paper bag that contained two coffee cups and a paper bow which Dean hoped had something with high protein in it. They went into Dean’s small kitchen and Dean placed the bag on the counter, sniffing the kitchen air. “I—,” Castiel began, face flushing suddenly. 

Dean cut him short. “Did you burn something?” He asked, trying not to sound as amuse as he felt. He took an appreciative sip of coffee and looked at Castiel.

“I tried to… make you something,” Castiel admitted softly as he watched Dean inspect his stove and then his dustbin. In it were two strips of severely wrinkled brown things that could have possibly been bacon half an hour ago.

“Huh,” Dean said as he looked at Castiel again. “Well.” 

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “I’m hopeless. He let his hands fall to his sides limply, eyes going soft and wide. It could have rivaled Sam’s puppy eyes.

“Er… no. What I meant was, I could really give you cooking lessons,” he said, smiling when Castiel smiled back. Dean drew a chair at the counter and sat down, opening the box to find… bagels in disappointment. Castiel sat down opposite him actually looking a little guilty. “So, what took you so long?” Dean asked as he ate. He knew Castiel was an early riser so that probably meant he had been out for some time. Dean decided not to add “thought you bailed on me” because that would mean he was insecure and that was not the case at all.

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what exactly to tell Dean. “These bagels are from a shop near the precinct,” he explained. “Cops go there all the time. It has the best bagels I’ve eaten so far.”

Dean swallowed the ‘so?’ and waited for Castiel to get to his point. 

“I met Zachariah,” Castiel said taking a long drink from his cup. Dean stopped drinking mid air to stare at Castiel who was now actually examining his bagel like it was evidence.

“And Zachariah is…?” Dean prompted, watching Castiel carefully.

“The chief of police,” Castiel said mildly. He paused, not looking at Dean. “He wanted me to go back and… he—he offered me the post of sergeant.” There was a slight possibility that Dean’s throat wasn’t working but he managed to swallow the coffee anyway even if it did leave a scalding burn.

“That’s good,” he replied, sounding lame. He tried to feel happy—he was happy—on Cas’s behalf but there was that voice at the back of his min saying, “Oh no, here it goes again.”

“It is.” Castiel wrapped his hands around the paper coffee cup like he was cold. Dean swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. “But I refused,” Castiel said and he drank again, picking up the bagel to finally eat t properly.

“*What*?” said Dean, not trusting his ears.

“I told him no… because I didn’t see the force the same way anymore.”

Suddenly Dean’s appetite returned. “Okay, that’s great too… what do you plan to do now?”

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know.” He didn’t even sound worried, almost like it didn’t really matter. Dean reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze to get his attention.

“Hey, you’ll be alright. And if all else fails, you could always work with me.”

Castiel smiled, head tilted to one side in what could have been an assessing manner. “Yes… I suppose we do work rather well together,” he agreed. Dean let go of his hand to resume breakfast. Holding hands had never been his thing but with Castiel he didn’t really mind. It felt… right.

“Cas,” he asked suddenly before Castiel could sink into his own thoughts. “Um… you free this Saturday?” And gave himself a mental slap. Of course, Cas was free. He was practically unemployed unless he considered taking up Dean’s offer. Castiel just gave him a patient look. “I mean… Sam’s wedding is next Saturday. So, I was wondering if you would like to… come… with me?” He hadn’t meant to turn it into a question but damn, Dean hadn’t asked anyone out properly for a very very long time. Apart from going for drinks, that is.

Castiel gave a smile that made Dean fall just a little bit more in love with him, though he would never say it—at least not yet. “I would love to,” Castiel said.

 

**Epilogue ******

“So,” Bobby said. He shifted in his tux, trying not to spill the champagne in his hand as he did so. He never liked formal wear, it was like going to a dentist, unpleasant but necessary every once in a while. So many layers, so constricting but it was Sam’s wedding and he could manage a tux for that. “So,” he said again, a little louder this time, eyeing Castiel through the champagne flute. Castiel turned away from Dean who was being surrounded by a group of Jessica’s friends, all wondering when *he* was going to get married, a half smile on his face looking distracted. Bobby tried not to roll his eyes. “You’re really knees deep in this shit, huh?”

“Yes.” Castiel hesitated. “I suppose I am.” He stared down at his own glass, looking thoughtful.

Bobby drained the champagne. It was fruity or maybe sweet, maybe bubbly but who the hell cared? It tasted good at that was important rather than some mumbo jumbo wine critics would pretend to know. “Make that neck deep.”

Castiel smiled at Bobby fondly. Bobby didn’t like that smile. It was the kind of smile someone gave before they said knowingly, “Ah, I know where Dean got his –whatever- from.” Fill in the blanks. Instead Castiel said slowly, “I wouldn’t call it shit.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Bobby sighed. “Just that, Dean’s not exactly the poster boy of happy, organised, familial white picket fence. I should know. At times he’s as stubborn as… well, he’s very stubborn,” he finished gruffly, tapping fingers on the handle of his wheel chair.

“I can be very stubborn too,” Castiel replied and it was almost a challenge. Almost. Bobby squinted at him, frowning and Castiel stared back, his face solemn. Bobby sighed and shook his head. Castiel returned to watching Dean and Jessica dance before Sam came to take her away. Grabbing another glass from a passing waiter, he wheeled over to Ellen who was catering drinks at a set up bar. 

“Hey, Bobby,” she greeted. 

“Look at that idjit.” He jerked his head in Dean’s direction. “Letting those chicks over power him while his poor bastard stands there watching all night.”

She stared for a moment. “That boy’s an idiot, alright,” she grumbled, deftly removing Bobby’s champagne from his hand and replacing it with a glass of scotch. Then, she threw down cloth she was holding and slipped away, pushing through people unapologetically until she reached Dean.

“Excuse me, dearie,” she said to a girl who was grabbing Dean’s wrist like a life line and somehow made it sound like a ‘fuck off’. She latched on to Dean’s arm and dragged him to a corner.

“God, that chick could give you a run for your money,” Dean said, scowling and rubbing his wrist. “You’re like she-hulks.”

Ellen smacked him on the arm. ‘Look at that,” she snapped, grabbing him and jerking a thumb at Castiel who was staring at a plate of bite size food the waiter was offering.

“Uh… that’s Castiel,” Dean said, like she needed reminding. Ellen glowered at him. Dean swallowed. “You know, you met him— .”

“How serious are you?” she asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, frowning and quickly smoothen his features as Ellen started to bristle. “Er… I kinda like him,” Dean said slowly. His heart was beating hard suddenly as Ellen looked at him with disbelieve. “Okay, I more than kind of like him….”

“I hope that he’s more to you than just some passing phase of your life.”

Dean sighed. “He’s much more than that,” he told her seriously. He looked over to Castiel who was talking absently to Jo. Castiel was as familiar to him as breathing now. Sure, they started out rocky but never did Dean slip someone so easily into his life before or vice versa.

Ellen was silent as she watched them both. “I see. Well, sweetheart, you should tell him that sometimes. Don’t keep him waiting around.” She wondered if Dean got her implications. They both watched Castiel frowning at a man who’d looked a little bit tipsy with a look that Dean adored on him. Dean was chewing his lower lip. Ellen patted him on the arm encouragingly before heading back to her bar leaving him to marinate in her words.

Finally Dean kicked his feet into action and moved jerkily towards Castiel. Jo had gone to chat with Jess. His heart was pounding. “Hey,” he said. Cas looked at him with a small smile. “I—was… uh….” The words had somehow lodged themselves in his throat and no amount of stuttering or quick thinking was going to get them out.

Castiel gazed at him with concern. “Dean, are you alright?”

“You gonna eat that?” he said instead, feeling like an idiot and pointing at the half-eaten tart Castiel held in his hand. Being around Cas seem to reduce the mental capabilities of his brain. If Castiel was expecting something else, he didn’t show it. Dean ate the tart and nearly choked, so he ended up swallowing Cas’s drink as well. He was the world’s biggest prat. 

He took a deep breath, trying not to feel awkward and geared himself for a second go. Before Dean could say anything though, Castiel interrupted, “Do you want to dance?”

Dean gaped for a moment as his mind processed the word through hundred and one other things he was about to say. “Dance? Uh…sure? Why not?” He was obviously redundant. Castiel seemed amused as he laced their fingers together and let him to the dance floor.

It was a slow song and couples drifted by them in a lazy rhythm. Castiel locked him arms around Dean’s neck, fingers teasing his hair lightly. Moving a little strangely (or at least it seem strange to himself), Dean rested his hands on Castiel’s waist. He caught a sight of them in the large mirror on one side of the wall and was surprised to see how similar their positions were to Sam and Jessica, twirling in the centre.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly as the swayed slowly to the music, Castiel warm under the layers of his coat.

The look Castiel gave him was one of perplexity. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said but with a hint of apprehension. He gaze grew intense, focus and sharp like a laser beam. Dean swallowed. Sometimes, Castiel focused on him like he was the only person in the world.

“Just… for making you wait this long,” Dean whispered, brushing his lips against Castiel’s ear and tightening his grip, feeling warmth and unspoken words that mattered and didn’t at the same time. Castiel pressed closer, warm breath on Dean’s collar, ghosting on the skin of his neck. “I really—I want to say this, Cas… because I….” 

Castiel made him want to say sappy romantic things he heard in movies, made him wish he could write poetry or something that could reach into someone’s soul, made him want to have that quiet house with the nice garden, made him entertain the idea of white flowers, tuxedoes and aisle just for a moment, even though he didn’t really believe in them.

Castiel paused, eyes going soft and then he kissed Dean softly, just barely a press of lips, tip of his tongue drawing against Dean’s lower lip, so gentle and understanding. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, mouth still pressed against Dean’s. 

“Because you show it everyday and I see it and I don’t need to hear it.” He rested his forehead against Dean’s, gazing into Dean’s eyes like he was staring into his soul. Dean wasn’t aware he had stopped breathing and that his heart was hammering in his ears and that he was probably blushing. The music had faded into the background and there was only Cas and the warm feel of Cas against him and the slight minty smell of him, sharp enough to want to taste. Castiel kissed him again, licking his way inside Dean’s mouth, slow and unbearably sweet.

When they pulled apart, Dean thought he ought to say something just as meaningful. Nothing came out. Castiel huffed a laugh against his cheek and Dean pressed his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, mouthing the three words against his skin that he couldn’t say aloud. 

He didn’t know if Castiel felt it but Cas pulled him closer and suddenly Dean was pretty sure that he had.

 

~THE END~


End file.
